Drops of Jupiter
by twentysevenseconds
Summary: The year is 1984. Eric never returned from Africa – instead he wrote a bestselling novel about the friends and family he left behind. When he finally returns to Point Place, he finds that things are very different from how he left them. E/D, J/H, K/B
1. Prologue

**A/N: Okay, so this story will be loosely based off the show October Road. I believe some of you are familiar, it stars the talented Laura Prepon. I highly recommend the show, if you haven't seen it. Anyway, this story will explore what might have happened had Eric never returned from Africa. For that reason, it's AU, but I tried to keep things as close to canon as I could without compromising the plot. Pairings will be Eric/Donna and Jackie/Hyde, but just a heads up, I already have several loops planned, so don't count on a short and sweet ride. Just a note for the J/H shippers: their plot does start a couple of chapters in, so don't give up on me too early on. Hopefully most of you will stick with me, I'll try to update as often as possible, but I'm not making any promises. I'm going to New Orleans on Friday and I won't have access to a computer for the whole week, but I'm going to try my hardest to get another chapter up before I leave. On the subject of reviews, I'd really rather not beg for them, but they do make my day and encourage me to write faster. I appreciate constructive criticism, but if you're not up to that, even just leaving me a 1-10 rating of the chapter would help me out. I think that's all I've got for now, so hope you enjoy the story :)**

**Official Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I in any way affiliated with either That 70's Show or October Road. The characters, and, in some cases, plot, belong to their respective writers and producers.**

* * *

"Enjoy the little things, because one day you may look back and realize that they were the big things."

* * *

Eric's shoes squeaked on the hardwood floor as he walked off the elevator and headed for his door. He paused at the end of the hall to fish his keys out of his back pocket, and the heavy oak door clicked open when he turned the knob, his Star Wars keychain clanging against his hand. A long sigh escaped when he gently kicked off his shoes in the general direction of the floor mat and shook his arms loose from his sport jacket; immediately his hands went to loosen his tie and his body turned towards the fridge, his shoulders slumping with obvious fatigue.

The blinking red light of his answering machine caught his eye as he popped open a beer, and he sipped at the bubbling amber liquid as he reached across the counter to press down the 'messages' button.

_"Hi Eric, this is your mother." _He smiled when Kitty's voice echoed through the empty apartment, and he set down his beer for a second to look out the oversized picture window behind him. The twinkling lights of New York City greeted him, and he smiled faintly. Sometimes living in a penthouse above Central Park was great.

_"I just wanted to check up on you. You're having a big week, and you know your father and I are very proud of you, honey, but don't work yourself too hard. Make sure you eat fruits and vegetables. And get enough sleep. When Marie Lawrence's son went away to college, he -" _Eric frowned when the message cut off, but made a mental note to call his parents tomorrow morning. He pressed the 'skip' button when the red light continued to blink.

_"Hey, Forman, it's Rob. It's about, ah, nine o' clock. I was just wondering if you're going tonight or not. Call me either way." _He smirked; he'd actually forgotten all about Daryl's party. Not like he really wanted to go anyways, but make that two calls he had to make in the morning.

Quickly losing interest in his answering machine, Eric yawned and popped open the freezer, rooting around to find something edible while his third message played.

_"Eric? It's Bill. I need you to call me tonight when you get home, we've got some things to go over. Nothing serious, just some technicalities. Congrats again on a great opening day. I'll be waiting for your call."_

He let a sigh slip out as the message ended, and he set the timer on his oven and slipped his frozen dinner onto the rack before stepping back and reaching for the phone, licking the ice off his fingers before dialing his producer's number and plopping down in his armchair in front of the TV. He flicked through the selection of channels as he listened to the dial tone, finally settling on an old episode of Get Smart.

"Hello?"

"Bill," Eric greeted him amicably. "Whaddaya know?"

"Eric!" His tone was warm, and Eric turned the volume down on the TV a few notches out of courtesy. "Well, you tell me, Mr. Movie."

Eric snorted. "Yeah," he mumbled, sounding probably less energetic than he should have. "Cool stuff, huh?"

"_Really_ cool stuff," Bill agreed easily. "And apparently we're not the only ones who think so; we just got the figures about an hour ago, _Pond _came in second in the box-office! That's gonna mean bonuses for everyone, my friend."

"Great!" He tried feebly, but cringed. His enthusiasm even sounded fake to his own ears.

Bill seemed to sense this, and he hesitated before clearing his throat. "Listen, man, I know you're just about ready to be done with all of this -"

"No, no," Eric interrupted congenially. "I'm just tired, Bill. This is good news. Really." He shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. He wasn't lying; he was glad his movie had done well. He silently reminded himself to be on his best behavior. Sometimes he forgot that Bill wasn't just his friend, he was talking to his _producer_.

"Um. Good, good. 'Cause the production team wants to wait awhile and see how things go, but judging from your hot start tonight, I just wanted to let you know that there's a chance you may be offered a sequel deal."

Eric just stared blankly at his armrest. "But there _is_ no sequel."

"I know." There was a pregnant pause; Bill seemed uncomfortable. "They want you to write one."

Eric just shifted, unsure of how to respond. On one hand, this whole movie thing was all he had now, and he knew he had to preserve that somehow. But he had been dreading this day since the moment this whole process started; the day he'd have to admit that he actually couldn't write, that this whole stupid thing had just been a fluke; a stroke of dumb luck. "Bill..." he started wearily.

"No, wait. Don't answer yet. You can think on it if you want." Bill's voice was desperate, and Eric shut his mouth slowly. "I just, ah, I have a suggestion for you, to get your creative juices flowing again."

"Bill, I don't care how much you beg, I'm not going to Reno with you and Bah again," Eric grinned, teasing his old friend.

"Shut up, doof. I'm actually being serious, here. Me and John, well, we were thinking, you know, you write really well when you're passionate about something. And you, well, you tend to be really passionate about one thing in particular; your past."

Eric felt his stomach lurch, and he swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "Yeah, so?"

"So, I don't know, maybe you could, like... like go back to your hometown for the weekend or something. You know, get some inspiration."

Eric blew out a breath. "Yeah, right. I don't think so. C'mon, Bill. You know about... well, you just, you know why I... I can't do that."

Bill had a response, but it was lost on Eric, because Get Smart had gone to commercials, and suddenly the grainy image of a seven year old boy with knobby knees and a backwards baseball cap filled the screen, following the standard green screen listing the rating and seal of the motion picture association of America. A man's voice provided commentary as the boy ran around a backyard barefoot.

"_Nineteen-sixty-seven… I was 7 years old. A lot happened that year. The Packers won the first Super Bowl …Evil Knievel jumped his motorcycle over 16 cars lined up in a row… And I graduated first grade at Glenhurst Elementary."_

Suddenly a young girl with auburn braids jumped into the frame, chasing the boy around the yard as they both laughed.

"_That was also the summer Dawn came to us. Her family moved in next door, and for me, it was love at first sight."_

The scene on the TV changed. Now the boy and girl were catching fireflies in a small field.

"_The only thing we had in common was that she had moved here from Indiana, and I had once _**heard** _of Indiana; but it didn't matter. We became fast friends, and then somewhere between the scraped knees and skipping rocks down by the reservoir, we fell in love." _

A montage of clips from the movie played. The two kids were riding their bikes down a sidewalk, playing basketball together, sipping hot cocoa atop a large snowdrift, their faces rosy and their mittened hands overlapping. They got older as the scenes progressed, the clips getting shorter as they reached adolescence. The boy and girl were all dressed up, they were holding hands and walking along a beach, they were kissing on a front porch.

"_When she smiled, I smiled. When she cried, I cried. Every single thing that happened to me that mattered, in some way, had to do with her."_

Suddenly, the screen went black. "Jack and Diane" by John Cougar Mellencamp started to play in the background, and a charismatic commentator started to talk over the music as the words "Based off of the best selling novel by Eric Forman" flashed across the screen.

"_The critics are raving over "Small Pond". The classic story of teenage love and loss with a fresh spin, audiences will fall in love with "Small Pond's" real approach to life, love, and one young man's harrowing journey of self discovery as he finds for himself that love doesn't always prevail and that sometimes not every road leads home_.**"**

The camera zoomed in on a close-up of a couple's clasped hands. Slowly, the hands disentangled themselves and broke apart. The words "Now Playing" glared back at Eric from the empty spot where the young couple used to be, and just like that, the screen had switched to a Taco Bell commercial. He blinked a few times, realizing that his heartbeat had sped up a bit.

"Eric? Are you still there?"

Bill's voice brought him back down to earth, and he shook his head to clear his thoughts.

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice thin. "Sorry. I just... got distracted for a second." He flicked the TV off as he stood up and headed towards the picture window.

"So what do you say?" Bill's voice was still hopeful. "Can I go ahead and send you the plane tickets?"

Eric just shook his head, but upon realizing that Bill of course couldn't see that, he sighed into the phone. "I don't think so, Bill. I really don't see how going to Point Place is gonna help me write."

There was a long pause, and Bill's voice lowered when he said, patiently, "Look, Eric, I know why you don't wanna go back there, man. I get it. I do. It's just... you've got to face your demons sometime, you know? That's the stuff good movies are made of."

"With all due respect, I've gone five years, man. Who's to say I can't last another fifty?"

Bill didn't reply right away, and for a fleeting moment, Eric thought he'd hung up. His voice sounded tired when he spoke a moment later. "Look, I know I can't make you do this, but I really think it'd be good for you. I mean, you haven't even seen your parents in five years. Don't you miss them? Wanna see what they're up to?" His question appeared to be rhetorical, as he continued, "And, I mean, have you ever considered that maybe the reason you can't write about this anymore is because you haven't gotten the closure you need?"

Eric just hoisted himself up on his kitchen counter and glared at the oven timer that was telling him he still had to wait another five long minutes for his frozen chicken pot pie.

Bill sighed. "Alright man, well, I've done all I can now. I'll have the tickets sent over tomorrow, then it's on you. Just think long and hard about this, okay? This sequel could be a deal breaker."

They said their goodbyes, and after Eric hung up his phone he looked around his apartment dejectedly. Aside from the Star Wars posters that hung over his couch, it looked barely lived in. He sighed, realizing that he missed having someone to talk to, even if that person was his semi-annoying agent.

He studied his hands until his eyes felt strained, but finally he slid off the counter and opened the coat closet near the front door. He sighed and shot an 'I can't believe I'm doing this' look towards the ceiling, but proceeded to pull out his suitcase.

* * *

**Up Next: Eric returns to Point Place for the first time in five years, and he's in for a surprise or two...**

**Please review!! :)**

**Also - did anyone catch my Wonder Years references?**


	2. I

**A/N: Okay, here it is; chapter one. We're still kind of in the background kind of stage right now, but next chapter we'll be getting into the real meat of the story. I want to say thank you to everyone who reviewed, it's a huge motivaton, guys, and I appreciate anything I can get. Unfortunately, this will be the last update for a while; I'm gonna be busy for the next two weeks or so, but don't worry, I'll be back. Think of it as, like, a hiatus :) **

* * *

"In the book of life, the answers aren't always going to be in the back."

* * *

"It's the next left," Eric offered to the taxi driver sitting next to him, and the grim man turned to him and nodded briskly before flipping on his blinker and turning down the street Eric grew up on.

He smiled faintly as he watched the houses go by. There was a time when he'd known each of the families that lived in those houses, was friends with all of their kids, and knew the name of their dog. Those days were clearly over now, though, he realized as the taxi pulled up to the curb between his and Donna's old houses lazily. He'd be lying if he claimed that he wasn't sneaking glances at the house next door as the taxi driver helped him get his luggage out of the trunk.

'Bob and Midge Pinciotti' had been scratched off the mailbox, something he knew he should have been prepared for, as he knew from his parents that Bob had moved to Florida four years ago, but it still felt a little like a sucker punch to the gut. Still, it looked like the new owners were taking care of the house well; the lawn was neatly trimmed, someone had planted new flowers along the walkway, and a small orange swing set was nestled behind the large oak tree in the side yard.

"That'll be thirty-two fifty." The cab driver's gruff voice broke Eric from his reverie, and he cleared his throat and reached around to his back pocket, extracted the money from his wallet and handed it to the man.

"Thanks for the lift," he offered a small smile which was not returned by the cab driver, and turned towards the house he was standing in front of.

His childhood home looked mostly the same, he drew in conclusion as he headed up the driveway, suitcase in hand. He was surprised to find that the Vista Cruiser was still parked in it's stall in the garage, though a newer model Honda had replaced his father's old orange one. They'd taken the basketball hoop down, he noted, but the patio chairs near the sliding kitchen door were the same gaudy patterned print as always. Even his obstructed view of the kitchen through the glass door proved that his parents hadn't really re-decorated a thing in his absence; the same wallpaper covered the kitchen panels, and the cluttered chest of shelves was still sandwiched between the counters and the door. The only thing that made him blink and take a step back was the fact that about five young children were scattered throughout the kitchen; one hanging off the counters, some sitting at the table, a few more splayed out across the tile floor. And his mother, his happy, cheerful mother, was right in the center of them all.

Reaching the sliding door, he set down his suitcase heavily and peered in through the door. He was unsure of the protocol, here. If you've been away for five years, without so much as a single visit, do you still have the right to walk right into your kitchen? Do you knock? Do you just wait to be noticed?

Luckily Eric's problem solved itself, because seconds later Kitty Forman looked up, and when her eyes fell across her son for the first time in five years, her face lit up. "ERIC!"

She crossed the kitchen faster than a woman her age ought to be able to, and had thrown open the sliding door before Eric could manage to get any words out at all. She wrapped him in a hug, and Eric bent down slightly so that he could bury his face in her shoulder. It's funny how you don't realize how much you missed someone until you see them again. It's funny how a mother's love can reach across continents, soothe old wounds, and come back so easily.

"Mom," was all he was able to choke out, and after a long minute they finally pulled back, a wide smile stretched across Kitty's face and tears sparkling in her eyes.

"My baby's finally home." Her smile was so wide he wasn't sure how she could speak, but she reached up and threw another arm around his waist, pulling him close and leading him away from the door.

"Look at you," she murmured when they had moved a few steps. She patted his side. "You look so... so grown up." She smiled at her son, and even though she'd been vague, Eric knew what she meant. Although he'd never be bulky, he'd put on more weight in his arms and chest, courtesy of his apartment building's five star workout facilities in the basement. On lonely nights, when he had no parties to go to, or agents to shoot the shit with, he'd head down to the gym for a few hours. It took his mind off of... other things. Still, he knew his new wired appearance was probably a shock to his mother, the discovery that he was no longer the skinny little boy she'd loved when he'd left.

Kitty left him no time for explanation, though, as she turned to the gaggle of kids who inhabited her kitchen. "Kids," she started with a happy giggle, "This is my son, Eric. Can everybody say 'hi' to him?"

"Hi, Eric," the chorus rang out, most of them not even looking up from the coloring books he could now see they were working diligently on.

Kitty turned back to Eric, smiling, and apparently read the confusion on his face. "Oh, honey, you forgot that I run a daycare now, didn't you?"

"Ah," Eric nodded his head and bit his lip, wondering how that fact could've slipped his mind. This was his _mother_ after all. They talked on the phone every Sunday night. Had their short chats really become so fake and on-the-surface that they no longer shared key information like this with each other? Or had he just not been listening?

Kitty didn't seem offended, though, she just continued smiling at him. "Well, honey, I'll tell you what; it's almost five o' clock, so the rest of the parents will be arriving in the next couple of minutes for pick-ups. Why don't you just head upstairs to your old room and unpack your things, and then later your father and I want to take you out for dinner." She glanced at her watch to confirm her estimate, then nodded and looked up again. "He should be home from the store in about a half an hour, so we'll plan on leaving then, okay? There's lemonade in the fridge if you get thirsty, and cookies in the tin, but don't ruin your appetite, please."

He just nodded obediently and headed for the stairs, but was mesmerized for a moment by the way she herded the kids into the living room gently, stopping to flash him one last smile before the door swung shut behind her. He couldn't help but think; if he'd overlooked his mother's new career, what _else_ had he missed? Being gone for five years is a long time, and he couldn't help but think, perhaps there was a lot that he had blocked out, simply because he hadn't wanted to hear it.

* * *

His parents had left his old room the same, which surprised him. He always kind of thought you had to be unexpectedly killed by a bus or something for that to happen. But his threaded bedspread was the same, right down to the Spiderman sheets, and his Farah Fawcett poster still hung behind his door; a nearby shelf held all of his Star Wars memorabilia. Leaving his suitcase in the middle of the floor, he reached out and wrapped his hand around a Luke Skywalker action figure. He smiled wistfully. God, he really hadn't realized back then just how good he'd had it. Not a thing in the world to worry about, loving parents, great friends. He swallowed; a great _girl_.

Suddenly curious, he crossed over to his bed and lifted up the mattress. The picture he'd been looking for fluttered out mockingly, and he snatched it up when it hit the floor. There she was, wearing her red prom dress from senior year. Her smile was infectious, her red hair sprayed across her pale shoulders. It was his favorite picture of her.

The last he'd heard of Donna, she'd gone off to college. Which one, he wasn't sure. His mother had just mentioned that she was trying to get her journalist degree, and hadn't said anything more about her. There'd been a million questions he'd wanted to ask; was she dating?, had she dyed her hair back to red?, did she ever talk about him?; but even though he desperately wanted to ask, he knew that if he was honest with himself, he was afraid of what her answers would be. So he didn't ask, and his mother didn't tell. It was an unspoken system that had worked out well for the past five years.

He stretched when he stood up, and hesitated a moment before slipping the picture into his back pocket instead of back under the mattress. Not caring to weigh the consequences or meaning of what he'd just done, Eric yawned and ran a hand through his hair, knowing secretly that he wasn't even going to unpack, since he'd be leaving Sunday. He just couldn't bear to break the news to his mother's hopeful face, so he'd have to make up an excuse. That shouldn't be hard; he was great at making up excuses, these days.

Suddenly remembering the lemonade his mother had claimed was in the fridge, he set off downstairs to wet his whistle after quickly changing into a nicer button down shirt. As he walked down the short hallway, he looked at the virtual family shrine his mother had lined up and down the wall. There were pictures of he and Laurie at the beach, on Santa's lap at the mall, covered head to toe in bubbles in the bathtub. One of he and Red squinting into the sun, his father's hand placed stoically on his shoulder, and another of Kitty and Eric dressed in matching aprons, flour on their faces and in their hair, wearing matching smiles. One more caught his eye; it was at the very end of the hall, just before the staircase. It was a picture of he, Fez, Hyde, Jackie, Kelso, and... _her_, all dressed up, the night of that lame disco they'd gone to their junior year.

He was pulled in by the picture, as if he was in some sort of trance, and he smiled when he got closer. God, they were such _dorks_, he laughed inwardly to himself, ghosting his fingers over the outfit he'd thrown together, and rolling his eyes at Kelso's tight, tight pants. And yet, he thought, they looked so... _happy_. All of them did. He missed those days.

The familiar squeak of the second-to-last step startled him, and he turned around to come face to face with his father.

Red had aged well; actually, he looked mostly the same. He had a few new wrinkles and his hair was a little bit more patchy and thin, but the expression on his face was surprised. "Oh. Um," he muttered gruffly, looking unsure of what to say.

"Hi, dad," Eric offered, taking a step closer to his father and shoving his hands in his pockets.

Red relaxed. "Hi, son." Awkward pause. "It's, ah, it's been a long time."

"Yeah," Eric nodded, unsure of what to say next. Finally, he sighed and opened his arms for a hug. Red just stared at him for a long moment, looking more uncomfortable than Eric had ever seen him, and finally extended one hand for a handshake. Confused, Eric shook his hand and dropped his other arm.

They held their shake for just a second longer than was strictly necessary, and stood there in silence for a few moments, eyeing each other unsurely. "Well, I've got to go change for dinner," Red broke the silence, and Eric just stared at him, taken aback. He'd been gone for five years, and his own _father _had nothing to say to him?

"Sure, dad," Eric sighed, and Red looked relieved.

"I'll see you in about twenty minutes," Red raised a hand as he opened the door to the master bedroom. He paused before he stepped inside, though. "Oh, and, you're not wearing that shirt, are you?" He paused, and Eric looked down at his purple and blue plaid shirt. "Cause it makes you look like a dumbass."

With that he closed the door, and Eric managed a small smile at the thought that even the big-shot movie guy still needs to be brought down a peg or two sometimes.

* * *

He had just helped himself to a chocolate chip cookie when the swinging kitchen door pushed open. Expecting to see his mother standing there, Eric was surprised when a small girl with auburn hair tumbled forward and grabbed a yellow sippy cup off the counter.

Startled, he set the cookie down and glanced at the child, who was now peering up at him over the brim of her cup, her green eyes bright and innocent. They stared at each other for another ten seconds before Eric cleared the air awkwardly.

"Um. Hello."

She removed one hand from the cup to offer him a wave before she set the cup down and wiped at her juice mustache with her arm. Eric shifted his weight nervously; as a general rule, kids didn't like him. He didn't know what it was, he just found he didn't know how to interact with them. And all of the staring that this one was doing certainly wasn't helping. Still, he felt the need to say something, so he offered, meekly, "What's your name?"

"Natalia," the little girl answered matter-of-factly as she reached her hands behind her head to adjust her ponytail. She looked to be four, maybe five years old.

He nodded. "I'm Eric." He reached down to extend a hand for her to shake, and was delighted when she giggled and wrapped her tiny hand around his, clearly excited that she was being treated like a grown-up.

"I know who you are," she told him, eyes wide when she let go of his hand, "Miss Kitty is your gramma."

He smiled. "She's my mom," he corrected her gently, already starting to fidget when he realized that he'd run out of conversation points. There were about three seconds of silence before Natalia's eyes lit up.

"Is that Luke Skywalker?" She bellowed in that way little kids do when they're overly excited, and Eric realized, blushing, that he was still holding the action figure he'd found in his room. Natalia grabbed for it excitedly though, and he couldn't help but grin when she set it on the counter and started making swishing noises with the light saber Luke held in his right hand.

"_You_ like Star Wars?" He asked her, half in disbelief that such a young child shared his favorite pastime.

"Yeah," Natalia answered in between making Luke jump from the counter to the table, "I've seen all the movies."

"Me too!" Eric told her excitedly, in a voice not too different than that of an excited five year old. Natalia looked up at him in surprise at the high pitch in his voice and let out a little giggle, thinking that he was kidding.

"You're silly," she told him with a grin, and Eric was only a little disappointed when she dropped the action figure on the table a second later, already forgotten. "Wanna see my new puppy? Her name's Sasha." Her voice peaked hopefully, and she reached for his hand.

"Oh," Eric stammered as her tiny hand curled around his. "Um, I don't think we can just, you know... leave. You have to wait here for your mommy or daddy to come get you."

"I don't have a daddy," she told him without skipping a beat, and Eric felt his heart fall to his knees. This sweet little Star Wars loving girl didn't have a dad who cared enough to stick around? He felt a surge of anger, and for a brief moment, he understood how Red probably felt most of the time. _Dumbass_.

The moment passed quickly, though, because Natalia was still tugging him along towards the kitchen door. "C'mon," she begged, "I live real close. You can see her from Miss Kitty's driveway."

Wait... what? "Talia," he started, the nickname coming to him easily and rolling off his tongue, "Wait a second." Because to his recollection, the only house you could see the backyard of from his driveway was... well, the Pinciotti's house. The Pinciotti's _old _house, he corrected himself, and he knelt down and was about to ask Natalia if she had an orange swing set when the living room door swung open to reveal none other than Donna Pinciotti. She was still young, and she was still pretty, but a look of complete shock clouded over her features when her eyes fell across Eric and stayed there.

"Mommy!"

* * *

**Up Next: Eric and Donna have their first confrontation, and we'll find out what the rest of the gang has been up to...**

**Please review!! :)**


	3. II

**A/N: I'm baaaaack. This chapter was a struggle, but here it is anyway. Don't hate me if it's a little bit fillerish... we're still in the building blocks stage, but the pace will pick up soon, I promise. You probably noticed that I renamed the story. I hope I didn't confuse anybody too much, I promise I won't be changing the name any more; it was just kind of one of those things where I knew what my story was gonna be but I didn't have a title for it yet, so I just picked a bland one. I'm happy to say that I like the new one a whole lot more, and it will explain itself in future chapters. I hope this goes without saying, but I do not own "Drops of Jupiter", nor am I in any way affiliated with the band "Train". It's just one of my most favorite songs... I'd definitely recommend a listen if you haven't heard it before. **

**And, as always, thanks so very much to everyone who reviewed last chapter. You guys rock :)**

* * *

"Maybe the past is like an anchor holding us back. Maybe you have to let go of who you were to become who you will be."

* * *

She'd dyed her hair back to red. That was the first thing he processed, as he took a step closer and grabbed onto the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles turned white. It was slightly curled, and cascaded down her back like a waterfall. For a moment, he couldn't look away. She wore a black headband and a professional looking skirt and pressed white blouse; she was clutching a small black briefcase in her right hand. Her beautiful hazel eyes were just as vibrant as ever, but they betrayed how surprised she was; her lips slightly parted and her eyebrows quirked. But still, she looked... _better than ever_.

"Hello, Donna," he murmured when he'd regained the power of speech, his greeting accompanied by a small grin - a knee-jerk reaction.

She, on the other hand, didn't seem to know what to say. She opened her mouth, and then closed it again. A small smile flashed across her face, too, for just the briefest of moments before it disappeared again, replaced by a practiced detached expression.

He'd been about to say something, _anything_, when suddenly Donna's legs were pummeled by Natalia.

"Mommy, Miss Kitty took us to the park today, and I got to go on the SWINGS!" You'd think that Natalia had just declared that she'd qualified for the Olympics, such was her level of excitement, and her daughter's outburst seemed to jar Donna back into the present. She tore her eyes away from Eric's, and smiled at Natalia's wild hand gestures. "...'cause an ANT was on his shoe! Isn't that funny, Mama?"

Eric, in the meantime, was standing awkwardly in the corner. He felt strange; like he was in someone else's house instead of his own, and his brain was working furiously to put together the pieces. His eyes traveled up and down the scene in front of him; Donna's professional clothing, the leather briefcase at her feet, and the _child_ that was resting comfortably on her hip.

"...And then after snack, we got to color pictures, mommy! I picked a flower, cuz I know you like 'em."

Donna smiled, but Eric could see that it was obviously forced as she slid her daughter to the floor. "That's great, baby. You wanna go get it so you can show it to me?"

"Yeah!" Natalia bellowed appreciatively, and barreled through the swinging kitchen door towards the living room.

With the energetic four-year-old out of the picture, an uncomfortable silence fell across the room. Eric was still reeling, his eyebrows lifted so high they almost disappeared in his hairline, and Donna took a deep breath and held onto her briefcase strap a little tighter.

"So you're a mom, huh?" Eric had finally come to his senses, and he swallowed hard as he moved a couple of steps closer. "I, um. I didn't know that."

Donna just smirked. "Well, there's a lot you miss when you vanish into the ether for five years."

Eric just nodded, defeated. He supposed he deserved that. Donna was fidgeting uncomfortably, bouncing her weight from foot to foot. He racked his brain desperately for something to say; anything. Luckily, he was saved, though, when Donna broke the silence.

"So," she started, eying him uncertainly, "I didn't, um, I didn't know you were back."

"Oh. Yeah. It was all kind of... kind of sudden. My agent wanted me to come back for the weekend, just to, you know, get some inspiration or whatever." He made a 'whatever' face, but her unamused expression didn't change.

"So you leave..." she trailed off, waiting for him to finish her sentence.

"Sunday."

"Of course you do." She raised one eyebrow before releasing a sigh, confusing Eric. He was about to ask if that was a good thing or a bad thing when Natalia bounded through the door, clutching a piece of paper with a sloppy purple flower drawn on it.

"Lookit!" She thrust the paper under her mother's nose, and Donna ooh'ed and ahh'ed politely.

"It's very good, Talia. We'll have to hang it up on the fridge." She held the paper up for Eric to see, and he caught the message her eyes were flashing him.

"Oh, wow." He nodded, eying the blob of purple and green that really looked more like a rhinoceros than a flower. "I like it."

Natalia giggled at all of the praise.

"What do you say?" Donna prodded her child gently, in the tone that mothers across the universe have perfected.

"Thank you, Mr. Eric," Natalia recited, clasping her hands behind her back and hopping from foot to foot anxiously.

Donna nodded, and pressed a hand against her daughter's back lightly. "Okay. Why don't you go wait for me on the driveway. Just be careful that you don't go near the street. I'll be right there."

Eric watched Natalia skip out the sliding kitchen door out of the corner of his eye, a slight smile on his face. She really did look _just_ like Donna; right down to the red converse on her feet. But her _eyes_... there was something about her eyes...

He was interrupted when Donna cleared her throat, and he looked at her. "Well, um, it was... nice seeing you again, Eric," she ventured half-heartedly, gathering her briefcase and adjusting her suit jacket.

But Eric was already sick of the small-talk, and he moved to grab her arm as Donna started to move around him towards the door. Thoughts of the last summer he'd spent here were swirling through his head; thoughts of carefree love, an all-night goodbye celebration at the end of that September, and a little girl with auburn hair and green eyes.

"When was Natalia born?" The question came out as more of a demand that he'd planned, and Donna's eye wouldn't meet his.

When she looked up at him again, though, her eyes were set in a sort of cold determination. "June of 1980." There was a beat, and they both stared at each other so long Eric began to wonder if they were in a staring contest he hadn't been informed of. "She turned four on the 24th," Donna offered in a kinder voice, but it still cut Eric to the core.

"Four?" He repeated, his eyebrow raised as he tried to do the math in his head without making it obvious.

"Four." Donna confirmed, raising her eyebrow, too.

That appeared to be the extent of their conversation, as Donna's shoulder slumped, and she moved to slide around him once again. She stopped with her hand on the door handle, though, and turned just enough to make eye contact with Eric.

"But, don't worry," she told him in a soft voice, after checking to make sure that Natalia was out of earshot, "She's not yours."

* * *

"Peg-leg Pete's Swashbuckling Pizza Parlor?" Eric read the sign aloud to himself in disbelief.

After his encounter with Donna, he'd decided to go for a quick walk while his parents showered and got ready for dinner. He'd started out on the trail behind the park, but about half-way through he'd gotten thirsty and decided to stop by the Hub and grab a Coke or something.

But apparently, his teenage hang-out was under new management, Eric noted with disgust as the fluorescent pirate sign hanging above the door "Arr'd" at him amicably.

Still, a quick glance at his wristwatch told him he had another half hour to kill, so he followed a young couple in the door and was immediately taken aback. There wasn't an untouched square inch in the place. The linoleum had been replaced with the fakest looking wood he'd ever seen before in his life, each table sported a ship-in-a-bottle centerpiece, and "A Pirate's Life For Me" blared over the loudspeakers. He was about to turn around and head right back out again when he heard someone call his name.

"Forman! FORMAN!?"

Sure enough, there sat Michael Kelso, not ten feet away from Eric. He was sitting by himself at a table; it was the same one they always used to sit at when they were in high school, although now it had the imprint of a scull carved into the tabletop instead of a red checkered table cloth. He was waving spastically, a huge grin on his face.

"Hey, man! I didn't know you were back!" Kelso engulfed Eric in a bear hug as soon as he was close enough, and Eric grinned and patted his old friend's back. "Here, get anything you want, my treat." He waved a waitress over, and grinned at Eric. "This place is _great_!"

"What can I get you?" The blonde waitress snapped her gum impatiently, and Eric wrinkled his brow. Since when did this place use _waiters_?

"Uh, I'll just take a Coke."

"You mean a bottle of rum?" Snap.

Eric just blew out a chuckle through his nose and lifted his eyebrows. "That works, too."

When she left with his order, Eric turned back to Kelso. "Yeah, I'm just back for the weekend. It's good to see you." He smiled the first genuine smile he could remember in such a long time, and sat down in the chair Kelso was eagerly gesturing to.

"You too, buddy, you too! God, I mean, you're like this big shot writer guy, now, man. Your book was so awesome!"

Eric just grinned. "Wait a minute. Michael Kelso actually read a book?" He teased him lightly. Kelso just got a sheepish look on his face.

"Well, um, actually, no. I saw the movie, though!" His voice dropped, and he leaned in conspiratorially. "And can I just say thank you for going easy on me. I mean, I didn't even have a name in the credits, just 'Dumb Guy at Bowling Alley'."

"Oh, Kelso, man," Eric fidgeted nervously, but Kelso cut him off before he could go on.

"Oh, no, no. Believe me, it's fine. I mean, I saw what you did to Donna and Hyde, or should I say "Dawn and Seek." He tried to wink, but it came off as a weird twitch.

"You know, that wasn't - I mean," he sighed, and his shoulders dropped. "Well, anyways, look, man, I'm sorry. About the whole movie thing. If I offended you in any way-"

"Oh no. The only way you could've offended me was if you hired an ugly guy to play me. Rest assured, I greatly appreciated the Steve Martin cameo."

The topic soon turned stale, so Kelso caught Eric up on all of the small town gossip: Kathy McCray and Tom Ripley were engaged, Marsha Lewis's little sister got suspended from high school for lighting up during Math class, and Kelly Johnson had flunked out of college. Soon they were laughing just like old times, but when the small talk ran out, Eric cleared his throat. "So, man, how's your life?"

Kelso's grin stretched so wide Eric was sure it would fall off his face. "Great, man. Brooke and I, we got married last year."

"That's right," Eric nodded. "My mom told me about that. Congratulations, man. And how old is Betsy now?"

"She turned six two weeks ago."

Eric just smiled. "That's great."

"Here," Kelso dug into his back pocket and produced a billfold. "Wanna see a picture? I've gotta use the, heh, head." He motioned in the direction of the bathroom, and Eric nodded, smirking.

Eric inspected the picture as Kelso scampered off. It was a family shot; Kelso, Brooke, and Betsy were all dressed in blue jeans and white shirts. They looked like they were on a beach. Eric's eyes lingered on the way Kelso's arms were wrapped protectively around his family. This wasn't the friend he'd left behind. This was some responsible family man. Sure he was still just a tad vain, and sure he still loved pirates, but he was, well... grown up. Eric smiled, and reached into his pocket for his pen so that he could jot his thought down on a napkin. Maybe his agent wasn't crazy. Maybe there _was _inspiration to be had, right here in Point Place.

But, speaking of inspiration's sake...

After a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure that no one was paying him any attention, Eric slid over onto Kelso's chair, which was nearer the wall, and ran his fingers along the knotty wood, right near the ridge where the edge of the doorframe ran into the smooth texture. Even though they'd sprayed some cheap, glossy covering on the walls since his last visit, he couldn't help wondering if it was still here...

His fingers moved of their own accord; they knew the spot, knew the feel of the worn old heart-shaped, initial-filled carving, yet it appeared to be in vain, because the only thing he found was the declaration "Lexi luvs Zach, 4real", and, of course, the obligatory "where's the beef?" inscription from some kid who thought he was original.

Biting back a sigh, he barely returned to his seat before the bathroom door swung open, and Kelso plopped himself down across from him with a lopsided grin. Eric knew that Red and Kitty would be almost ready to go by now and that he really ought to be heading home soon, but he couldn't help but quell just a little bit of his curiosity. "So, Kelso, how's everyone else doin'?" _Read: how's Donna doin'?_

Kelso, of course, did not pick up on his cue. "Oh, you know, pretty well. Jackie and Fez are still dating. They still live in our old apartment on Fifth. And Hyde is working at this new record store they put in at the mall about three years ago; I think he's the assistant manager, now." He blinked, and appeared to be trying to remember if he forgot anyone. "Oh, and Donna. Um," he looked at Eric unsurely.

"I ran into her today at my parents' house," Eric offered nonchalantly, chewing lightly on the tip of his straw.

"So then you know?" Kelso looked nervous.

"I know that she has a daughter that no one told me about, yes." He leaned forward in his chair and set his Coke down heavily. "Seriously, man. What's the _deal_ with that?"

Kelso just shrugged. "Oh, right. Natalia. I dunno. It just didn't seem like the type of thing you tell somebody over the phone. Besides, it's not like you're the dad or anything."

Eric leaned back in his chair once again, eying Kelso. "So I've heard."

Kelso, blessedly unaware of the way Eric's shoulders had knotted up, began casually, picking at his napkin with a straw, "Donna says the dad's some doctor from out east. She hooked up with him at this party a couple weeks after you left. He flew back to Boston before she found out she was pregnant, and I guess she's just never told him." He shrugged his shoulders and glanced up. "I mean, we've never even _met_ the guy."

After a well-timed burp, Kelso continued. "But, I mean, it's not like Big D ever needed his help or anything, that's for sure. Bob left the house to Donna when he moved to Florida three years ago; she and Tal live there now. Donna writes for the newspaper. They get by just fine, man," Kelso patted Eric's arm reassuringly, obviously misconstruing the look on Eric's face as concern for their well-being.

Eric just nodded, limply, still struggling to process all of this new information. He must have had a strange look on his face, because when he looked up, Kelso was staring at him oddly.

"You okay, man? Cause you look sorta weird. Like that time I ate too many Pringles and got sick in the airport bathroom." He paused and sort of looked off into the distance for a moment, a goofy smile on his face. "Man, that was _awesome_." He shook his head for a moment in wonderment of the apparently fond memory, before snapping back to reality when Eric sighed.

"I don't... I dunno. It's just like.. I guess everything is a lot more different than I'd thought it'd be. Kinda like, well, nothing's the same anymore." He couldn't help it that his tone was gloomy and he had to restrain his eyes from wandering over to the bald spot on the wall.

Kelso just nodded, in a moment of rare maturity. He was probably thinking about squirrels, but his eyes were present. "Yeah, I guess. I mean, you haven't been back since..." He squinted his eyes, trying to remember.

"1979," Eric offered glumly. "That September."

"Yeah. Well, you know, things change, Forman. Even in Point Place." His expression was teasing, but Eric picked up on a bitter edge to his voice that indicated that this conversation was probably over.

"Right," Eric nodded and took one last sip of his soda. "Well, thanks a billion for the soda, buddy. You're sure I can't pay for it?" He pulled his billfold out of his back pocket and waved it in front of Kelso's face tantalizingly, but Kelso just chuckled.

"Nah, I got it man." They both stood up awkwardly. "But, hey, do you wanna maybe get together later on this week? Shoot some pool? Or, hey, we could go to a Brewers game or something..."

Eric just frowned remorsefully. "Can't. I leave Sunday."

He felt like he'd just kicked a puppy, what with the way Kelso's face completely dropped. "Oh yeah. Oh, that's right. Um, okay then, ah, I'll just... I'll see you later then."

"Don't worry, man. I won't be a stranger anymore," Eric flashed him a half-hearted grin. "I think I've already burned too many bridges."

The two men said their goodbyes, and Kelso sat down in his booth again, smiling wistfully, thinking about his friend. The blonde waitress approached him with a tray of food. "One Buccaneer Burger kid's meal," she recited in a bored tone of voice, setting the plate down in front of him. Kelso just pouted at her.

"But my friend just left. I'm not even hungry anymore."

She just snapped her gum at him, unamused. "Don't care; still have to pay."

* * *

**Up Next: Kitty and Red host a barbeque, and Eric faces some more demons...**

**Please review!! :)**


	4. III

**A/N: Hey, remember this story?! So incredibly sorry it took me so long to update. It was one of those cases where I just had to step away for awhile... but I've really been in the writing mood lately, so hopefully, there's more to come. Thanks so much to those of you who have stuck with me through this long hiatus, I really, really appreciate it, and I hope this chapter won't disappoint. Enjoy!**

* * *

"Just because everything is different doesn't mean anything has changed."

* * *

"Fezzie!" Jackie giggled, squirming away from her foreign boyfriend, who was currently attempting (with some success) to tickle her. "Quit it! Mrs. Forman _said _I could pick the music."

"Yes, my pet, but you see, not everyone wants to listen to ABBA all night. We've got to mix things up a bit. Throw on some Peter Frampton." He wiggled the record in front of her face alluringly, and when she simply frowned at him, he leaned in to peck a kiss on her nose.

"Yeah, that's not really any better, Fez," Eric patted his friend on the back, overhearing their conversation as he passed by on his way to refill the ketchup container.

Jackie leaned in and kissed Fez's chest, mumbling something about "her disco king", when a slightly tipsy Kitty Forman made an announcement.

"The hotdogs are done, everyone!" She waved her guests over towards the grill and her less- than- thrilled husband, who sported a borrowed "Why limit 'happy' to an hour?" apron. "Cooooommmmeee and get 'em! Ahahaha!"

"I got dibs on a not burned one!" Kelso bellowed, immediately sidestepping his wife and daughter to secure his place in the forming line. As the rest of the party slowly followed in suit, Eric sighed and ambled to the back of the staggering cafeteria-esque line, twirling his Styrofoam plate impatiently. Forty minutes in, and he was already thoroughly unimpressed with his going-away barbeque.

He surveyed the decorations his mother had excitedly prepared this morning; there were a few lawn chairs here, a picnic table there, and lots and lots of twinkle lights. He smiled. He really did love his mom. She was such a nice lady. He decided that he wouldn't be a stranger anymore, if only for the sake of his mother. A few visits a year wouldn't kill him. It was the least he could do in return for all the love and forgiveness she'd shown him over the years. Although, the fact that Donna and Natalia lived right next door _was _a bit of a complication.

Donna. He sighed just thinking about her. What in the world was he gonna do about _Donna_? Granted, she didn't seem like she wanted anything to do with him, but he just didn't feel right about leaving things so… awkward between them. He tried to search for her among the crowd in his backyard. Surely his mother had invited she and Natalia…

Suddenly the shine of her retinted red hair caught his eye; the two of them had claimed a card table over near the fence. Natalia was squirming as her mother attempted to apply sunscreen to her cheeks. Donna was pretending to be so consumed by the aforementioned task that she didn't notice Eric standing just a few feet away from them. She looked very pretty today, he decided. Red was really her color. He wondered what she'd say if he told her that.

Their conversation yesterday had been short and terse; he hated that. It was just another silent reminder that the world as he'd once known it had completely ceased to exist.

"Hey."

He'd moseyed over casually, and she looked up and smiled at him wearily. He wasn't sure what to say to break the ice, but luckily his mind was made up for him when a tall, dark haired man came swooping over the fence that separated the two yards. "Hey, babe," he slimed, before ducking his head to press a hard peck to Donna's lips.

Eric halted in his tracks, and focused hard on making sure his mouth didn't hang open in disbelief as the man straightened up and gave him a smirk.

"_Casey Kelso_?"

"Surprised, Foreplay?" Casey paused to ruffle Natalia's hair briefly before crossing his arms smugly. Donna had apparently admitted defeat against her daughter's defiance, and was concentrating all her effort on softly squeezing shut the sunscreen bottle.

"I-um. Yeah," Eric breathed, taking in the scene before him. His eyes darted from the emblazed breast pocket of Casey's vest, proudly declaring 'Kelso Konstruction', to the unamused expression on Natalia's face. "Um. Haven't seen you in awhile."

"Yeah," Casey leered, clearly enjoying Eric's discomfort, "I heard you were back. Nice little movie you got there, pal. Really enjoyed one character in particular. 'Kenny Carmichael', I think was his name. Big, bad bully guy. Ring a bell?"

"Oh, ah, listen Casey," Eric murmured apologetically, resisting the urge to ring his hands and take several giant steps backwards, "I didn't-"

Casey quickly put up his hands in protest. "Naw, hey, man, I was just playing." His easygoing grin was back. "You don't need to explain to me why you felt the need to take a big ole' crap all over your hometown, you know? That's personal, man." He shook his head in amusement, then nudged Donna playfully. "But, ah, I heard that there's a barbeque somewhere around here that just can't go on without buns." He grinned, and produced two neatly-tied bags of bakery fresh hot dog buns from behind his back. He playfully tapped Natalia on the back of the head with one of the bags. "C'mon, Nat. I'll get ya a dog."

"Mooom," Natalia groaned in an underhanded whisper as Casey walked away, "I _hate _being called 'Nat'."

Donna just frowned sympathetically and brushed a stray hair off of her daughter's forehead. "I know, baby. Just keep reminding him." She patted her daughter on the head and gestured for her to get up. "Why don't you follow Casey, hm? I'll be right over."

Donna cleared her throat as Natalia trudged away. "Um, sorry about that." She glanced up at Eric apologetically, and he raised his eyebrows.

"Casey Kelso?" He teased her gently, easing himself into the chair across from her nonchalantly.

She crossed her arms, unamused. "What?"

"N-nothing," Eric cleared his throat and waved off her accusation. "I just... um.. didn't think he was really your type."

"Yeah, well, he's changed." Her voice had a cold, matter-of-fact edge to it that sent a shiver through Eric's spine. "He owns his own construction company now. Biggest in the greater-Kenosha area," she recited, raising her eyebrow for effect. "And he and I have always had a connection." Her voice dropped slightly in pitch, and she looked uneasy for a moment, "He's a nice guy now, Eric. You should give him a chance."

He took a beat to process her words. Despite the strong statements she was making, her expression was blank. "Yeah, no, I, um… I'll do that," Eric nodded, trying to determine if he should believe her. Survey says: no.

After an awkward beat of silence, Donna made a move to stand up. "Well, look, it was really um, great, to see you again... so. Have a good trip home, yeah?"

"Donna, wait." He blew out a sigh of discontent and grabbed her arm, and they both jumped at the spark of contact. Eric awkwardly yanked his hand back in embarrassment, but she stopped and lowered herself back into her seat slowly. "Look, can we, you know, talk? I just… I don't know, I feel like things were kind of weird between us yesterday…"

She quirked an eyebrow at him in disbelief. "Honestly? What did you expect?"

He exhaled softly, defeated. "I know, okay? But, I just.. how are you?"

Donna blew out a breath. She glanced over Eric's shoulder; Natalia was happily munching on some chips, sitting on a glowing Jackie's lap. Casey was nowhere in sight. She bit the inside of her lip and glanced back at him. His eyes were sincere; begging her to try with him. "I'm fine," she told him curtly. "I, uh, I write for the Gazette. I have my own column now. It's kind of cool." He flashed her a smile, and she returned it, tentatively. "And, you know, I just stay busy carting Natalia around everywhere. Play dates, swim class, piano lessons. We actually have to leave in a little bit; she has ballet at 5."

Eric smirked. "Donna Pinciotti's daughter does _ballet_?"

"She plays t-ball, too," Donna furrowed her eyebrows defensively.

"I was just kidding," he smiled at her, and her shoulders started to slowly relax.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before Donna leaned back in her chair, refusing to meet his eyes but reluctantly returning the inquisition, "So, I guess you're staying pretty busy with your movie and everything, huh?"

"Yeah." Eric gave a half-smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I think it's like, third in the box-office right now or something…"

"Second," she corrected him softly. His eyes snapped up to meet hers, but she'd apparently become enthralled with moving around some dirt with her toe.

Eric cleared his throat, his face taking on a much more serious expression. "I actually wanted to talk to you about that, Donna. The whole book thing was just so spontaneous. I mean, I never thought _anyone _would want to read it… I was so surprised when they told me they wanted to publish it. But I'm," he swallowed hard, "Donna, I'm really sorry. About… everything."

"Oh, you're _sorry_, hm?" She looked up at him suddenly, her eyebrows turned down menacingly but her tone eerily calm. "'Cause I've gotta say; I _loved _it."

"Donna-"

"No, no. Really. In fact, I even memorized the third paragraph on page 216: '_Dawn's head was full of plans and her heart was full of dreams, but underneath her confident exterior she was just a scared little girl; the kind of gal who was so afraid to fly that she never did land_.' "

Eric's mouth had fallen open. "No. Donna, no. That wasn't -"

"Sounds like you nailed me to a tee." He was horrified to see that her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. One dribbled out the corner of her eye as she stood up, but she refused to acknowledge it by brushing it away.

Eric stood up so fast he knocked over his lawn chair. "Donna, please," he pleaded with her softly, grabbing her arm as she back away from him. "Please let me explain."

But Donna was shaking her head slowly, and she gently twisted out of his grasp. "No. No, I have to leave now." She sniffed as she tucked her purse under her arm and began to move back towards the rest of the barbeque guests, gathered around the driveway. "I'm sorry Eric, but this is just… this is just too weird."

"What is?" He begged her, his forehead creased in anguish.

"Standing here talking to you like this is normal. Like nothing happened." She turned and walked away. "I'm sorry, Eric," she called over her shoulder, abruptly. "Have a safe trip."

He yanked at his hair in frustration and sunk down onto a nearby chair. The familiar sound of a fist pounding against a fiberglass table was all that needed to be said.

* * *

"Eric."

He whipped around as the petite, raven haired girl appeared over the side of the fridge door. "_Jesus_, Jackie," he blew a weak chuckle out his nose as he readjusted his grip on the beer can he'd almost dropped in surprise. "I, um, I didn't hear you come in."

"Oh. Sorry. Your mom… she sent me in here to grab some extra napkins." She paused to roll her eyes. "Michael spilt soda all over himself." She flashed him a brief smile and moved towards the paper towel dispenser.

Eric took a beat, and then sent a 'what the hell?' look towards the ceiling. "Jackie, I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but you just missed a _primo_ chance to make fun of me." When she just lifted a perfectly manicured eyebrow at him in response, he continued, with noticeably more flamboyant hand gestures, "You know… the whole 'I'm a jumpy girl and you're a bitchy… bitch' routine?" Still no response. "C'mon, that was like, our _thing_!"

"I'm sorry," Jackie retaliated coolly, ripping off a sequence of about ten paper towels, "I didn't realize we were still in high school."

"_There_," Eric grinned proudly, strolling across the kitchen to stand beside her, "I felt the resentment that time."

She finally cracked a smile. "Eric, you _are_ a jumpy girl," she mumbled, reaching over to shove his shoulder none-too-gently before returning her attention to accordion- folding the towels she needed to deliver. "Although you're really not all that skinny anymore," she noted, glancing up at him. "What'd you do? Bench press that ginormous case you kept all your dorky dolls in?"

"I grew up," he answered, because it was the truth. She nodded, accepting his answer. He knew she understood; could tell just by looking at her eyes. They were… grayer.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "And you. I noticed that you've, um… you're a bit… you know, nicer," he finished with a cringe.

Jackie smiled; the first genuine one he'd seen from her today. "Aw, Eric," she teased him, straightening to her full height, "Are you trying to compliment me?"

He shrugged noncommittally, and she actually giggled before gathering the stack of towels into her arms. "You got a girlfriend, Eric?"

He smirked, and crossed his arms casually. "Oh, of course. You know me, always the player." She rolled her eyes when they made eye contact, and he shook his head once in amusement, easily acknowledging his fib. "You and Fez, though, huh?"

"Yeah," Jackie nodded, smiling. "We're really happy."

"Well that's great." Eric smiled too, because it was nice that at least _someone_ around here was happy. Today was really kind of nice, he decided. His friends had done alright for themselves. Kelso was the family man, Fez and Jackie had found each other… and he was glad, if nothing else, that Donna was still writing. Suddenly he frowned, realizing that one person was conspicuously absent from the festivities. "Hey, how's Hyde doin'?"

Out of nowhere, Jackie bucked her knee against the cabinet roughly. Groaning, she leaned down to massage it, blinking up at him like a deer in the headlights. "Steven?" He nodded, confused. "Steven… Steven had to work tonight. At the mall. The mall is where he works. Tonight." She brought her hand up to her forehead, flustered, "I-I mean… other nights, too. Most nights, actually. He works a lot." She dropped her arms to her side in a huff, and seemed to decide to start over completely, "I don't see Steven much anymore," she retracted, nodding her head for emphasis. "I mean, I have Fez… why would I need Steven?"

Eric just stared at her. "I- okay," he finally decided on, holding his hands out in front of him as if that could stop her outbursts. "I was just, um, curious."

"Of course," Jackie nodded. "I was just, you know, letting you know. That Steven works at the mall. And that I don't need him. Er," she knitted her hands together across her forehead. Was that a trickle of sweat at her hairline? Eric got the sense that he was in way over his head. "That was a stupid thing to say. Of course I don't need him. But you know that." There was an awkward silence, where Eric became enthralled with his shoes and Jackie cringed. "So how's New York?" She tried a subject change.

"It's… fine," he glanced at her, his brow furrowed. Where had the calm, cool woman he'd been talking to five minutes ago gone? She nodded, but failed miserably in her attempt to appear interested. "Jackie," Eric finally sighed, going against every bad instinct he had, "Are you, like… okay?"

"I-" Her shoulders slumped. "Eric, you're leaving tomorrow, right?"

"Well, yeah –"

"Then, can you… can you keep a secret?" Her mismatched eyes had turned an intense shade, and they pleaded with his.

"I – yeah, I guess…"

"Okay, well," she paused to throw a glance over her shoulder at the screen door. When she was satisfied that no one had come looking for them, she dropped her voice to a whisper, "I slept with Steven last night." She cringed as soon as she said it, and chewed on her bottom lip apologetically as she waited for his reaction.

Eric just shook his head, not understanding. "Wait, but – Fez…"

"I know," she murmured, shaking her head, too. "I know. It was a horrible, stupid mistake, and I just… I feel so bad. It just… happened, I guess. It was just one of those things…" She trailed off lowly, hugging her arms around herself like she had the chills, even though it was 90 degrees outside.

"And you haven't… told anyone?" guessed, raising his eyebrow.

"No," she shook her head, a glossy sheen of tears forming in her eyes. "I… I can't tell Fez. It'll _kill_ him," she whispered brokenly.

Eric blew a deep breath out and ran his hand through his hair absentmindedly. "God, I –I don't know what to tell you, Jackie," he murmured, glancing up at her and trying his hardest not to see her in a completely different light; one that was not exactly a positive reflection.

"You don't have to tell me anything," she assured him, touching his hand for a moment, but immediately retracting it. "I just… I guess I just had to tell _someone_. I was gonna burst."

He nodded like he understood, but he didn't. "Okay," he patted her on the arm, already starting to head towards the kitchen door, "As long as you've made peace with it, I guess…"

"Wait, Eric." Her words stopped him, and when he turned around, she was still standing there next to the counter, clutching the forgotten paper towels. "You're not going to tell anyone, are you?"

He paused, and stared down at his shoes as if they would produce his answer. "It was just a one-time thing?" He glanced up at her.

"Y-yes," she confirmed, dabbing at her eyes with the edge of her sleeve.

"Then… no," he settled, with his hand on the door. He cleared his throat. "There's no sense in ruining a perfectly good relationship over one dumb mistake, right?"

"Right," she echoed, and he nodded once and left. But he never glanced back, so he didn't catch her eyes dulling slowly back to the gray, or the way she ground her toe into the ground desperately, like she was just _searching_ for a foothold.

* * *

The gentle summer breeze caressed Eric's face as he stepped gingerly back out onto the driveway, completely unnoticed by the mingling guests. Kelso was trying (badly) to dance to the crappy disco music blaring from the radio, while Brooke and Betsy did their best to disassociate themselves from him on the other side of the yard. Casey and Red were engaged in an aggressively loud discussion about the price of oil while Kitty bustled around behind them, pretending to be refilling ketchup bottles. Donna was… he craned his neck, to no avail. She was apparently nowhere to be found. And Fez was sitting at a table, sipping on a beer, laughing amiably at Kelso's wild, jerky antics. Eric couldn't help but hurt for the man, who had no idea he'd been betrayed, and by his _best_ _friend_, no less. He sighed, and set his beer down on the desert table. He just couldn't imagine how that would feel. If Fez ever found out, surely it would –

"Shh."

Surprised, Eric glanced down. Natalia stood at the other end of the desert table, her chubby little arm poised as she prepared to reach for what appeared to be, judging from the powdered sugar coating her lips, her third or fourth lemon square.

"Shh," she whispered a second time, lifting a finger up to her lips for emphasis. "I'm only 'pposed to have one," she explained as she gingerly pinched her prize between her fingers, lifting it from the saran-wrap-covered plate and up to her mouth.

Eric found that he couldn't stop the chuckle from bubbling up from his throat. "Don't worry," he whispered back, just for fun. "Your secret is safe with me." She giggled when he reached for a pastry, too. "These are my favorite."

Natalia's eyes widened in surprise. "Mine too!" She bellowed, forgetting her secrecy in light of this new revelation. Pausing only to quickly swipe her hands across the front of her jean- short overalls, she bounded over to him. "I remember you," she announced, tipping her head back to stare up at him. "You were at Miss Kitty's house yesterday."

"I was," Eric agreed, polishing off his lemon square. He smiled at the child squinting up at him, but fidgeted for just a moment. "Hey, is your, um, mommy around here?"

Natalia shrugged her shoulders and squatted down on the ground to poke at a passing ladybug, already bored. "I dunno. She just told me to stay right _here_ 'til she got back."

"Oh," Eric nodded, shifting his weight. Even though he knew he shouldn't… knew it was betraying Donna and the very clear answer she'd given him yesterday, he felt like this might be an opportunity to ask the little girl a couple of questions. Who did she call 'daddy'? _How_ old was she, again? Was she… happy? He opened his mouth, but was interrupted by Natalia's spirited narrative from the ground.

"Take _that_, Darth Vader," she declared, poking the offending ladybug with a twig.

Eric grinned, and lowered himself to the ground gently. He drew his legs up so that he was sitting camper-style next to her, and she glanced over at him, her tangle of auburn bangs falling in front of her eyes.

"Do you wanna play?" She asked him genuinely, offering him a twig. Eric just shook his head, finding that his breath had somehow gotten lodged in his throat. Those _eyes_… God, he _knew_ those eyes…

"I always play Star Wars," Natalia bubbled, happily turning her attention back to 'Darth Vader'. "It's my favoritest movie ever."

"Is it?" Eric cleared his throat, and leaned forward slightly, amused. "And who introduced you to that? 'Cause I know it wasn't your mom," Eric chuckled. "She's always _hated_ Star Wars."

Natalia shook her head, "Well, my uncle Hyde buys me lots of presents. But I think my mom likes Star Wars, too. I think it's her favoritest movie, just like mine."

Eric laughed. "I don't think so, Natalia. Your mom and I," he hesitated, trying to determine the best way to explain he and Donna's on-again-off-again relationship to a four year old, "Your mom and I are old friends," he decided on finally, "And she's never been much of a fan. She left that pretty much up to me," he amended, chuckling.

But Natalia shook her head again, and kicked her feet out in front of her body impatiently. "No… I really think it's her favorite. Miss Kitty said your favorite movie always makes you cry."

Eric froze. "Star Wars makes your mom cry?"

"Y-yeah," Natalia stuttered, thrown by the suddenly serious expression Eric wore. "That's how come she never watches it with me. Cuz she can't even get through the very beginning without crying a little. I can tell, 'cause she goes like this," she proceeded to demonstrate a series of unladylike sniffles.

"Huh," was all Eric was able to mutter. And then, "So, Natalia." A beat. "Do you like ice cream?"

* * *

"Alright, brother. You wanna stay. That's… that's interesting. But you're… you're _sure_ about this?" Bill's voice, disbelieving and loud, as usual, boomed through the speaker of the Forman's living room phone.

Eric paused for a moment, trying to get comfortable on the old couch. "Yeah," he breathed slowly, nervous, but sure of his words, "Yeah, I think I am."

"You think you got a story, there?" His producer probed, and Eric bit his lip. _Was_ there a sophomore novel hiding somewhere around Point Place, waiting to be written? A happy ending for Kenny Carmichael, and Dawn Pincerstein, and the rest of the citizens of Point Upon A Place? Truthfully, he wasn't yet sure. What he _was_ sure of was that there was something more to Natalia Pinciotti than met the eye. There was something about her auburn hair… it was thin and fine, unlike Donna's, which was thick and rich. She had an unquenchable appetite for his mother's lemon bars. And her eyes. He saw those eyes every single day, staring back at him in the mirror. Her _eyes_.

"No, better," Eric cleared his throat. "I think I've got a daughter."

* * *

**Please review!!**


	5. IV

**A/N: Here's chapter four. We're starting to branch off into some of the other storylines now. I've got a lot planned that's still up ahead, so I hope most of you can stick with me. Reviews would be lovely... especially if you add as a favorite or an alert. I'd love to hear from all of you. Thanks!**

* * *

"You'll never know what it's like to lose a best friend until you look back and don't feel safe enough to fall."

* * *

Eric Forman prided himself on being such a sound sleeper.

Growing up, he'd slept through the endless supply of slummy guys Laurie paraded in through her window every Friday night. In Africa, he'd slept right through the suffocating heat and the mosquitoes that swarmed outside his tent. In fact, even the electrifying vibrations of New York City weren't enough to keep him up awake. But last night he couldn't sleep.

He'd lain there in his old twin-sized bed, tossing and turning for hours on end. No matter which position he'd adjusted to, sleep wouldn't come. He just couldn't turn his brain off for the night; couldn't shake the sneaking suspicion that maybe, just _maybe_, he had a child. A pretty little girl, with green eyes and mismatched converse sneakers, to be exact.

Fleetingly, Eric found himself wondering what her favorite color was. Did she prefer orange jello, or red? How about her first word; what had that been? He wondered if she was sad that she didn't have a daddy, and he swallowed hard. God. If he _did_ turn out to be the father, and he'd missed out on these first four years of her life… he grimaced. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to forgive himself for that one. Still, the other day Donna had informed him that he had nothing to do with Natalia, and somehow, that thought broke his heart even more.

So he was, to say the least, a bit surprised the next morning when Donna came barreling through the basement door to talk to him.

He'd been sitting in front of the TV vaguely watching some game, he wasn't even sure which sport it was, to be truthful, and reveling in his mother's decorating abilities. Sometime a couple of years ago, she'd apparently taken on the task of revamping the crowded space he had once referred to as his 'bat cave'. The floor was laminate now, a white marble color, and brightly colored circle rugs were dispersed around the room along with things like miniature painter's easels, hippity-hops, and toy chests. A bulletin board hung where the washer and drier used to sit, displaying pictures of several children and the proud declaration 'Kitty's Little Angels'. He'd thought it funny, for about half a second, that after whipping into the room, Donna had attempted to hang her jacket on the child-sized coat rack before rolling her eyes and throwing it across the back of the couch with a huff.

"We need to talk," she announced, seating herself primly on the rocking chair to his left.

"Greetings are so out-dated these days, don't you think?" He tried to be funny, but she didn't allow for so much as a small courtesy smile.

"Look," Donna folded her hands cordially, "I heard that you're… staying. Or something. And that's whatever. You can do whatever you want." She narrowed her eyebrows in a way that let him know she meant business, "Except invite _my_ daughter out for ice cream, Eric."

"Oh." He shrugged his shoulders, frowning. "I'm sorry. The offer was only if she got your permission. I just," he hesitated, "I just want to get to know her a little."

"_Why_?" Donna threw her hands up in exasperation.

"She has my eyes, Donna." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Eric found that as much as he knew they would open a whole new, controversial can of worms, he didn't regret them in the slightest. He wanted to know.

Donna just released a tired sigh and gently lifted one hand to smooth across her forehead wearily, "No. She doesn't."

"They're green," he countered, going on the defensive.

"And that means _what_?" Donna finally exploded, crossing her arms across her chest defiantly. Her eyebrow arched so high it disappeared into her hairline. "That she's your daughter?"

Without even realizing it, Eric sucked in a deep breath. "Look, Donna," his voice had lowered considerably, taking on an intense tone that she'd never heard out of his mouth before, "I know I'm not as smart as you are, but I _can_ count to nine." She declined to answer him, choosing instead to draw her mouth together, as if she was silently begging herself not to say something. Finding himself suddenly angry, Eric stood up. "What's the deal with Natalia's father, Donna?"

She lifted her head to meet his eyes, and the burning intensity behind them startled him. "Are you sure you want to hear this?"

Eric set his jaw, and tilted his head up imperceptibly.

Now Donna stood, too, casually whipping her purse over her arm, her stare never faltering from his. "Natalia's father is a man named Pete Peterson," she began, strikingly calm. "He's a forty-year-old doctor from Boston. I hooked up with him at a party two weeks after you left." She paused. "Happy?"

Eric swallowed hard as she maneuvered around him to grab her coat from the back of the couch. She started heading towards the door to leave, but paused and turned around. "You want more details?" She asked him, a predatory gleam in her eyes, "Here's one," She took a step closer to him, and then another one, until they were standing so close their bodies were brushing. "I did it because I knew in my heart that you were never coming home to me."

* * *

The mall looked different. Clearly, it had been remodeled in the last several years, because Eric didn't recognize any of his surroundings. Where was that malt stand he'd loved as a child? It had always been right across from the food court, hadn't it? And the weird second-hand store he used to occasionally steal a cool looking ring or postcard from? It had apparently been replaced by a women's shoe store.

Eric sighed and made his way towards the directory. It was funny how much things changed; funny how quickly one became an outsider in his own town. There was a time when he'd known the precise location and name of each and every store in the mall, who owned them, and how long they'd been there. Now he was surrounded by unfamiliar shops and kiosks selling brightly colored sunglasses. He sighed again, and ran his finger along the glass of the directory, tracing his way down to 'Accessories'. What had the name of Hyde's cassette store been, again? Jackie had mentioned it once. _Holes_, was it? No… but it was definitely 'hole' something…

Eric's train of thought was interrupted when a group of rowdy teenage boys blew past him. He straightened as the scent of smoke engulfed him, and his shoulder was jostled as a dark skinned straggler knocked into him. Feeling a bit out of his element, Eric followed the group with his eyes. He didn't know why he was glaring; they weren't turning around. They'd entered the dark shop directly in front of him… the one with the dark red walls, dim lights, and slightly obnoxious music. In an effort to convince himself he hadn't, in fact, become his father, Eric smiled wistfully. It looked like the kind of shop he and his friends would have spent hours at when they were teens. The accidentally-on-purpose jagged edges of the front entrance, the smoky atmosphere… it oozed teenage rebellion. He was just about to turn back to the directory when he caught the title… _Hole In The Wall: Cassettes and More. _But of course.

He waited until the unruly kids had trooped back out before entering the store cautiously moments later. The impression he'd gotten from the outside held true: there were rows upon rows of cassette racks, aisles of cool miscellaneous memorabilia like guitar picks and amplifiers, and signed posters decorated nearly every square inch of free wall. Eric couldn't resist whistling under his breath, searching the aisles and behind the counter for Hyde. There weren't any other customers in the store; the mall closed in five minutes.

"Can I help you find something?" The voice came from the back of the store, and Eric whipped around to see Hyde emerging from the back room, carrying a stack of crates so high it obstructed his face. "I've got to unload these, and we close in a few minutes, but if there's something in particular you're looking for, I could ring you up quick."

Eric grinned despite himself, and strolled a few paces towards the counter. "Yeah," he drawled, crossing his arms confidently, "How 'bout some Zeppelin?"

The crates slammed down so hard Eric was amazed Hyde didn't crush his fingers. With a flash of intensity, fierce blue eyes met startled green ones. Hyde stared at him for a long moment, and Eric's smile eager wavered. "We're closed," Hyde finally muttered, his voice even, and with a roll of his neck, he turned his back to his former best friend and started cutting open the top of a crate.

"Hey," Eric's voice rang out in the quiet shop, causing Hyde to tighten his shoulders but not turn around, "Come on." He took another step closer to his old friend, his shoes squeaking on the cheap laminate floor. "You're not even gonna let me explain?"

The only sound in the room was the soft rip of the tape as Hyde pierced his scissors through the top of a second crate. He began unloading it without a word.

"I-I didn't mean for any of it to happen, you know," Eric started softly, lifting himself up to sit on the counter next to Hyde, who continued to look for all the world as if he didn't notice that there was anyone else in the room with him. "I never intended to stay away for this long. And, man, you don't know how many times I picked up the phone to call you… or, you know…" he trailed off uncertainly, and, detecting a touchy subject, he quickly added, "But, hey, this place looks _great_. Really. Seems like a cool job. I was watching those teenagers in here earlier…"

Hyde let out a soft grunt of exertion as he lifted another crate and dropped it on the ground. He turned around slowly, and lifted an eyebrow when he met Eric's eyes. "Sure," he nodded, "Yeah. Woulda made a great scene for your book." Abruptly, Hyde shouldered around Eric with a bit more force than strictly necessary, and made his way back towards the counter. Eric barely registered a soft, "Fuck you," and dropped his hands into his lap, defeated.

"So that's…" Eric patted his thighs, and hopped off the counter, rounding on Hyde. "That's it? You're like mad at me because I wrote a _book_? Because I found success?"

"No, no," Hyde corrected methodically, still refusing to look his companion in the eye, "I'm mad at you because you turned your back on your friends, Forman. On your _life_." Hyde avoided eye contacts as he stalked over to a nearby table, a stack of cassettes in his arms. With an impatient sigh, he quickly busied himself with setting up a display, his eyes narrowed.

Eric just gave a hollow chuckle, and crossed his arms over his chest. Maybe this was just the final straw on his bad day, or maybe it was just the product of twelve-plus years of build-up, but something inside of him finally snapped. "Well you know what I think?" Eric taunted him, moving closer to his friend now, his tone almost menacing. "I think you're pissed at me because I got out of this shitty little town, and you didn't." Eric moved closer still, his hands smugly in his pockets. "I always thought that out of all of us, _you_ would be the one to get out and do something with your life. I always thought _you_ were gonna be somebody." He paused and let his words sink in, before adding, quietly but triumphantly, "Guess I was wrong."

Hyde slammed the cassette he was holding onto the floor. The plastic shattered, and he gripped the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles turned white, but he refused to turn around and face Eric. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he snarled.

"It means," Eric was standing directly behind him now, and his voice was livid in Hyde's ear, "That you got stuck. I mean… _look_ at you. You're twenty-four years old and you're working at the mall and screwing your best friend's fiancé behind his back."

At Eric's words, Hyde whirled around abruptly. The two men were standing nose to nose, glaring at each other furiously, each seemingly daring the other to utter one more word. Eric took the bait. "What the fuck _happened_ to you, man?"

Hyde's fist connected with Eric's jaw in the next second, and the impact sent the scrawnier man tumbling to the floor. Hyde stood above him, massaging his knuckles. He seemed to give his victim a moment to recover before nudging him in the side with his boot. "I could ask you the same question," he stated simply, before he turned around and walked into his office without looking back.

* * *

"Put this on your jaw."

Red tossed a cool blue ice pack across the kitchen, and Eric caught it between the tips of his fingers. His skin burned, protesting against the harsh contrast, but he obediently lifted the cube to rest below his temple.

"How's it feel?"

Red had always been of few words, and for the first time in his life, Eric was thankful for that. He gently shifted the ice pack and slowly rotated his stiff jaw. He was met with a sharp zing, and he flinched. "Aches."

His father just stared at him. He'd popped open a beer and taken a seat across from Eric at the kitchen table. He slowly traced the rim with his index finger, his gaze even. "I meant," Red paused for emphasis, " how does it feel to be punched in the face by your best friend?" His voice and expression were unflinchingly passive, making it impossible to measure his level of contempt.

Eric sighed. "Even worse," he admitted. Although a nagging part of him still thought his analysis of Hyde's behavior had been correct, he felt bad about practically shoving his success in his friend's face. He'd been out of line, and he knew it. Still, something had just… come over him at the record shop; something he couldn't quite put his finger on. All he'd known was that he'd been back to town for less than three days, and he already felt like he was back in high school. The girl next door was being wooed by the town bad boy, his mother was treating him much better than he deserved and his father was detached, and his best friend was so much cooler than him. Everything was just the same as when he'd left it, and it wasn't supposed to be like that. It was supposed to be better this time around. But it wasn't. "I just…" Eric sighed. "I can't say I expected everyone to be _happy_ I'm home… but I never expected them all to, like... whatever," he trailed off, conscious of his father's quiet but condemning gaze.

Red was quiet for a long moment before letting out joyless chuckle. "Welcome to the blowback, son."

Eric's eyes snapped up. "The what?"

"The blowback." Red shrugged, and took a sip of his beer. "You write a book about your hometown that features everybody in a not so peachy light, and you're gonna have more than a few pissed off people on your hands." He drummed his fingers on the table for a second, his demeanor still surprisingly calm. "Then you do one better and stay away for five years. Truth is, we're all wondering just what exactly you're doing back, and how many years you're gonna be gone next time." He finished his sentence with an articulate belch.

Eric nodded slowly, defeated. "I guess I deserve that."

"I think the reason you're meeting so much resistance," Red swiveled in his chair, as if preparing to stand up, "is because we can't figure out why you left in the first place."

"I-" Eric's voice caught in his throat, and he studied his hands rather than meet his father's eyes, "I guess I really don't know, either."

Red nodded once, and lifted himself to his feet, already headed to the fridge for another beer. He paused for a moment next to the counter, thinking. "Well. Why'd you come back?"

Eric shook his head again, but his eyes automatically flickered to the side of the Pinciotti's old house. A sliver of their driveway was visible from the sliding glass door. Red stared at him for a moment. "Maybe there's your answer."

* * *

"You shouldn't have hit him, Steven." Jackie's voice rang through the mostly empty studio apartment, reaching the kitchen nook from her perch on the end of his bed. Hyde lifted his arm in a half-hearted signal that he'd heard her, but continued to poke at the charred mess on his stove that had at one point been a frozen pot-roast dropped off by Mrs. Forman.

Apparently giving up hope, Hyde sighed and shoveled the crispy remains into the garbage can before reaching for the phone. "Do you want Chinese take-out, or pizza?" he hollered over his shoulder, and Jackie slid off the bed and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, her silky robe billowing behind her.

"Chinese," she answered primly, "And you didn't answer me."

He sighed and set the phone back on its cradle. "That's because I don't know what you want me to say, Jackie," Hyde countered, turning around in her arms and easing himself up so that he was seated on the kitchen counter with her standing between his knees. "The guy had it comin'."

But Jackie shook her head. "_That_ _guy_ is your best friend," she insisted stubbornly, tugging on the hem of his white undershirt.

"_Was_ my best friend," Hyde corrected, turning his eyes down.

Jackie grasped his knees and swayed in place, her tone softened and her eyes gentle. "Are you still upset about the book?"

"Nah. I never even read it," he grinned, and Jackie laughed. "It's the movie." He paused, thinking. "My character… what was his name? Seek?" Hyde rolled his eyes. It might have been a new decade, but Forman was still just as big of a dork as he was when they were seven. "You know that scene… the one where the kids burned that old abandoned shed down, and then Seek ran away?" Jackie nodded, so he continued, scoffing. "I mean, c'mon. That never happened. Yeah, I burned the shed… but I didn't run. I _stayed_. I dealt with the consequences of my actions. Unlike some people."

Her eyes were wide as she watched him, and finally she relented. "So you're angry because he rewrote history?" But Hyde just shook his head.

"It's not even that," he cracked his knuckles and looked down at the raven-haired beauty standing in front of him. "He just… he thinks he gets to blow into town and save the day. He fucking…" Hyde trailed off angrily. "Maybe we don't _need_ saving," he finally decided on, and punctuated his statement by gently swinging down from the counter.

Jackie watched him as he paced the tiny kitchen. "Maybe _you_ don't, Steven," she added quietly a few moments later, "But the rest of us are kind of a mess. Did you know he thinks he's Natalia's father?"

His pacing stopped abruptly, and he slowly turned around to face Jackie again. He nodded slowly, his lips thin and pulled tight against his mouth. "I always kind of thought so, too," he admitted quietly.

"And that's why you come around so often," Jackie swallowed, finally understanding. "I know you take your godfather duties pretty seriously, Steven," a smile tugged on the corner of her lips, remembering an instance in which Hyde had warn a matching Mickey Mouse t-shirt to keep a younger Natalia from bawling. "Donna says that you still take her out for ice cream every Sunday night… down by the pond to feed the ducks, even, sometimes. You're gonna give the rest of us a bad name," she teased him, and he smiled for the briefest of seconds. "How can I compete with someone who takes her to see _Star_ _Wars_?"

He just shrugged. "It's really no big deal," he defended himself. His voice dropped as he added, softly, "The kid doesn't have a father, that's all."

"Well I think it's sweet," Jackie persisted, reaching around to fist her hands in the front of his white t-shirt so that she could pull him to her in a kiss. "But I might have to take a rain check on that Chinese food. I just noticed the time; Fez will be home soon."

And that's how Hyde came to be sitting in his recliner in the middle of his apartment, a fork-full of moo shoo pork in one hand and a bottle of cheap beer in the other, wondering how come at the end of the day, he always ended up right here, feeling just like this: empty.

* * *

Donna let out a deep sigh as she dropped into bed, completely spent. Putting a four year old with a sugar high to bed for the night will do that to you, she chuckled, as she glanced at the clock. When had 8:30 pm become _late_? Although her body was clearly exhausted, her mind was still reeling, so she reached for her bedside table, ready to read a few quick pages of her book until she felt drowsy enough to sleep.

The novel that she wanted wasn't in its normal place, so curiously, she climbed out of bed and padded over to the bookshelf in search of it. Her tired eyes couldn't seem to locate the dull red cover of _To Kill A Mockingbird_, but they did fall across the bright blue binding of another worn read; one she hadn't touched in nearly a month, now. The frantic slope of the title called to her, and she lifted _Small Pond_ from its place, turning it over in her palm.

There he was, handsome and grinning in the black and white thumbnail near the bottom of the back cover. And even though she knew she shouldn't, knew this was probably the absolute last thing she needed to do right now, she flipped back the cover. She knew it was crazy, but sometimes when she read things he'd written, she felt close to him; like he was sitting right next to her, whispering the words into her ear. Some days that was a good thing, like when she read the line on page 21, where Derrick admitted that he'd never love anyone quite like he'd loved Dawn. But most of the time it was a bad thing.

Taking in a deep breath, Donna closed her eyes and flipped to a random page. It was the end of the first chapter, and almost immediately her eyes started swimming, because she knew what was coming.

"_And as Derrick walked away_," she recited, slamming the book shut and letting it fall to the floor with a thud, "_he wished that he could completely erase those last four years from his memory_."

The funny thing was, those had been the best four years of her life.

* * *

**Please, please review guys. I work hard on these chapters, and I need to know who's still reading. Thanks!**


	6. V

**A/N: Wow, this story is back. I don't know how many years it's been, but today I got the itch to come back to this. I'm not sure how many of you are still with me, but I do want to thank everyone who's reviewed or PM'ed me to say they still believe in this story. I hope this update was worth the (really, really long) wait.** **I'm excited about where I want to take this, and while I will not make the mistake of promising updates, I am going to try. Especially if I have the readership. So anyway - thanks ****again, all, for your support before and during my hiatus. Here we go... the continuation of "Drops of Jupiter".**

**-Shea**

* * *

The shadowy hallway of Willow Oaks Apartment Building #3 was dead silent as Eric climbed the final flight of stairs and the looming doorway of room 5B came into view. He found himself dragging his feet as he moved closer to the heavy wooden door. He wasn't sure he was ready to deal with the demons of his past that lay just behind the threshold.

When Eric had come down for dinner that evening, Red had thrown one sullen look at him and pointed a gnarled finger towards the sliding kitchen door. "Go," he'd said. "Make things right with your best friend before it's too late."

So he'd gone. And the whole while over, he'd thought it was a good idea. As girly as it sounded, he missed his best friend. There was just something about an old friend that's rejuvenating. Spending time with someone who knows everything about you – _everything_ – and still chooses to be in your company… it was friendships like these which he'd been missing out on since he left. Sure, he had friends, but they weren't people to just hang out and remember all the good times with so much as they were people to party with. People to _forget_ with.

Making his decision, Eric reached his knuckles out and rapped three times before he could chicken out. Fleetingly, he glanced around the barren hallway. There was no place to hide if Hyde decided _not_ to forgive the punk wannabe-writer who'd publically trashed him across the big screen and then had the nerve to rub said trashing in his face. Eric swallowed hard as the door swung open.

"Oh. Hey."

Eric wasn't sure what he'd been expecting – a door slammed in his face, perhaps? – but it wasn't a calm greeting. Hyde stood before him in a white tank and crumpled, day-old jeans. He had a dab of shaving cream on his face, and he reached up to swipe it off when Eric stared.

"Can I – can we talk?"

Hyde nodded slowly, and eased the door open a little wider so that Eric could slide inside. "Red gave you my address, huh?"

"Yeah," Eric nodded, feeling out of place in the tiny apartment. Although it was lacking furniture other than a simple couch and armchair, it felt… warm, unlike his apartment back in New York. There were pictures on the mantle – a recent one of Donna, Kelso, and Hyde, and another of the whole gang when they were teenagers. Eric swallowed when he noticed the pictures of Natalia. There was one that must've been her newborn hospital picture, a tuft of red hair the only indicator of the little girl she was to become. Another featured she and Hyde on a teeter totter at the old primary school. Still another depicted a beaming Natalia, popsicle smeared across her face as she jumped through a sprinkler.

"She's a cute kid, isn't she?" Hyde offered, coming up behind Eric and startling him.

He turned around and cracked a small smile. "Yeah. She is."

"She likes Star Wars, you know," Hyde gave him the smallest of head nods, and Eric smiled, happy his friend hadn't tried to beat the crap out of him yet, but a little confused. He was reminded of their elementary or junior high days; they would get into a fight about something stupid, and the next day Hyde would just traipse right into the basement like nothing had happened, and their disagreement would be completely cooled. Maybe it's really just that simple between old friends. Maybe-

"I'm still pissed at you, you know." Maybe not.

Hyde had turned around and walked away from the mantle, towards the kitchen nook. His back was towards Eric, but his tone was calm, much different than yesterday.

"Yeah, I figured." It was all Eric could think to offer, but he shoved his hands in his pockets apologetically and made his way over to his oldest friend.

Hyde didn't say anything when he reached him, just stared. That was Hyde – unassuming, undemanding. He wasn't going to make him apologize, and didn't _expect_ him to. He was just waiting.

"I'm sorry," Eric broke two seconds later, throwing his hands up in complete surrender. "I'm really sorry. I was just… I was out of line to say that stuff, and I take it all back, and-"

"Forman," Hyde cut him off, shaking his head. "It's okay."

"Really?"

"Sure," Hyde nodded, eyeing the smaller man warily, as if afraid he'd try to go in for a hug. "Some of what you said, man… it was true." Eric shook his head, but Hyde cut him off again. "And, I'd apologize for that," he gestured to Eric's puffy, red jaw, "But, you know…"

Eric waved off his apology. "You were probably right to hit me."

"Oh I was absolutely right to hit you," Hyde raised his eyebrows, and Eric shrunk back automatically.

There were a few seconds of strained silence. Eric wished he could say it was awkward for both of them, but as usual, Hyde seemed unfazed and simply glared at his old friend.

"Well, look," Eric stammered, forcing himself to straighten, "what can I do to make things right between us?"

At that, Hyde nodded briskly. "Simple," he shrugged. "Admit that you think you're better than me, better than _this_," he gestured around his apartment with a wave of his finger, "because you're some hot-shot writer boy now."

"No." Eric shook his head sincerely, waving away his friend's accusations. "That's not true, man-"

"Admit it," Hyde cut him off sourly. "Admit it, or I'll never respect you again."

Eric's shoulders slumped. He stared down at the carpet, unable to look his friend in the eye. "Okay," his voice was barely louder than a whisper. "I-sometimes, I-I guess that's true," he cringed at his own admission, and finally glanced up at Hyde remorsefully.

Hyde stared at him for a long, long moment. Finally, he nodded. "Alright, man. We're cool."

"Really?" Eric's smile lit up his face. _Finally_, something had gone right since he'd gotten here.

"Yeah," Hyde shrugged noncommittally. "An ass who can admit he's an ass is better than one who can't."

Eric jerked his head in a half-nod, trying to agree. That was about as complimentary as Hyde got. And as usual, he was spot-on correct.

"But hey, listen," Hyde continued, moving across the room to prod at his dumpy TV, which had started steaming out the sides. Eric looked closer and recognized it as the one his parents used to keep in the basement. Hyde must have kept it after all this time for sentimental value. "How'd you find out about me and Jackie? Kinda supposed to be a secret."

"Oh. Right." Eric shoved his hands in his pockets, finally starting to relax a little. "She told me."

"Jackie told _you_," Hyde repeated, staring back in disbelief.

"Yeah, it was weird," Eric agreed. "I think it was because she thought I was leaving, and figured I'd be safe to tell. Guess she's feeling guilty." He gave Hyde a pointed look.

Eric still couldn't believe it was in Hyde's character to do this to such a good friend. He'd snagged Jackie that summer Kelso and Donna were in California, but that had been different. Jackie had been technically single, then. And it was pretty easy to justify "betraying" Kelso – although he'd pined after Jackie for weeks after he found them together, at his core he was a womanizer and he moved on without too much suffering. But Fez… Fez was a good guy. And he and Hyde had always been very close. Something about this rubbed Eric the wrong way.

Meanwhile, Hyde scoffed. "Jackie doesn't do 'guilt', man." He threw aside the antennae he had been adjusting and stepped away from the TV, apparently admitting defeat. "And neither do I," he added, giving Eric a look that told him he'd be wise to drop this line of conversation if he wanted to keep his newly reclaimed friend.

"Hey, I like your place." Eric changed the topic hastily as Hyde crossed to the kitchen counter, leafing through a pile of mail. "It's nice."

"No, it's a shithole," Hyde responded without looking up.

"Okay," Eric squeaked, eager to agree with anything Hyde said.

Hyde looked up at him and seemed to feel a twinge of sympathy for his old friend. "Look," he rubbed a hand over his freshly shaved chin. "Kelso and Fez and I… we're gonna go grab a beer. There's this new place on Fifth that's all right. You, ah… you wanna come?"

"I – yeah. Yeah, totally. That sounds great," Eric answered honestly, ecstatic to be back 'in' with the guys, and Hyde nodded.

"I'm gonna go put on a shirt. Make yourself at home," he joked, laughing through his nose as he gestured to the worn down place. Eric still thought it was nice. It was a little reminiscent of his trailer from the old days, but it was clean. Sure the furniture was worn, but there were rock and roll posters covering almost every square inch of wall, and strangely even some feminine touches, like drapes and matching dishtowels.

Hyde had just exited to the bathroom when the front door of the apartment opened tentatively.

"_Jackie?_"

"Oh, my god." The small brunette standing in the doorway clutched a hand to her chest in surprise. Her other arm was full with an overflowing grocery bag. "Eric. What are you doing here?"

Side-stepping her question completely, Eric glared at her and crossed his arms. He nodded to the grocery bag. "What, are you Hyde's personal shopper now, too?"

She rolled her eyes and invited herself all the way inside, letting the heavy door shut behind her. "_No_," her tone was snotty, and she set the bag on the counter and began pulling things from it. She balanced a pair of apples and three pears in her hands, and deposited them in an empty wooden bowl on the opposite counter before reaching back into the bag and pulling out a half gallon of milk. "I just… bring things over sometimes. Steven hates shopping of any kind and if I didn't bring him groceries he'd never eat anything but that junk at the mall."

She continued unloading a loaf of bread, some cheese, and a can of soup while Eric stared at her.

"Jackie." Eric uncrossed his arms. His voice was no longer sharp. He spoke softly, with the air of a revelation. "You're… you and Hyde. It's more than a one night stand, isn't it?"

Jackie shrugged and placed the milk in the fridge. "No."

"But. You're bringing him groceries." Eric spoke slowly, clearly confused.

Jackie sighed and dropped her shoulders. "Okay, fine. Maybe it is. But it's none of your business anymore, okay? In fact, I just want you to forget the conversation we had."

Eric furrowed his brow. "How do you expect me to do that?"

"You know, I don't care." Jackie glared up at him, finally showing some emotion. Unfortunately, that emotion was anger. And it was directed at him. Eric gulped. "I only told you what I did because you were supposed to be on a plane to New York 36 hours later. I didn't tell you so you would get involved." She picked up a carrot and jabbed it at him with each word she spoke. "So Butt. Out. Forman."

"Fine." He raised both arms in surrender, and she dropped her weapon of choice. He was silent for a few moments, watching her put away the last of the groceries and wipe up the residue left on the counter with a washcloth like she lived there. "I just don't understand how you could do this to Fez."

Jackie growled low in her throat. "You don't _have_ to understand it." Her tone was warning.

"But you guys – I mean, you seem… happy."

Jackie grumbled and dropped her elbows on the now-clean surface, leaning onto them to level with Eric. "We are," she sighed, finally giving in to his inquisitions.

"Then how come you – what?" Eric seemed surprised. "You _are_ happy with Fez?"

"Of course." Jackie made a weak gesture with her hands. "Fez is wonderful."

Eric shook his head. "Okay, now I'm confused."

Jackie sighed again, and threaded her hands together. She stared at them for a long time before looking up at Eric again. "Okay. I'm going to tell you something. But once I do, you have to shut up and stop asking these questions." Eric nodded. "And you have to promise… Eric _promise_ me that you'll still hold up your end of the deal. Don't tell anyone, okay?"

He sucked in a hard breath. It wasn't a promise he could make lightly – Fez was one of his best friends. But Eric was already in deep enough that he might as well know the rest. Maybe the knowledge would be valuable, and he could do something to fix all of his friends. Or burn the hell out of Jackie at a later date. Slowly, he nodded. "Okay. Yeah. I promise."

"Fine." Jackie sucked her cheeks in and held them for a second. "See the thing is… I know that Fez is the right guy. He's – he's stable, and doting, and charming. We listen to the same kind of music. We want the same things. And," she sucked in a breath, "and he _loves_ me. He'll give me anything I want. I know that." Jackie paused. "But Steven is… there's just something about Steven that has taken ahold of my heart and won't let go. I know he doesn't love me the way I love him, but I can't help taking whatever I can get."

She looked up at him, now, and Eric was shocked to see unshed tears filling her eyes. But seconds later, her sassy tone returned.

"So you can think I'm a whore if you want, or a bad girlfriend, and you know what? It's probably true. I know that, okay?" She wiped at her eyes forcefully, then returned her hands to fumble with the washcloth that still lay between them. "But this… Eric, this is the only way I can be with him. I need him, and he needs my company. So this is just how I have to live."

Eric shook his head. "But… if you feel that way, why can't you just break up with Fez and date Hyde? Why complicate things?"

Jackie laughed joylessly. "You think I haven't tried that?" She sighed. "Steven, he… he doesn't want a relationship. He never has. What we have works because there's no pressure." She shrugged matter-of-factly. "I'll marry Fez. We both know that. What Steven and I have is just companionship, with sex thrown in." Eric winced, but she continued as if he hadn't. "I need someone to love – to _really_ love – and Steven needs someone to…" she gestured the the now empty bag on the counter, glumly. "To bring him groceries."

"Wow. So there are really no emotions involved?"

"Not for him."

That surprised Eric. He knew Hyde well – had lived with him for years – and the guy _wasn't_ helpless. His upbringing with the ever-absent Edna had forced him to grow up a lot earlier than any of the rest of the gang, so cooking and basic upkeep was something he'd been versed in since 17. It was pretty unlikely that he was keeping Jackie around to bring him his groceries. He opened his mouth to say that, when Hyde ambled in from the bathroom, a clean Rolling Stones t-shirt now on.

"Jackie."

She whipped around to face him. "Steven. Um, I brought some food over."

He nodded, and crossed to stand next to Eric. "Cool." There was a beat of painfully awkward silence, in Eric's opinion, before Hyde cleared his throat. "You, ah, wanna come out with us?"

She tightened her lips. "Fez is going."

He shrugged, as if to say 'So what?' but Jackie shook her head.

"No. I'll – I'm gonna go. I think I'll visit Donna."

Eric's ears perked up at the mention, but Jackie was shrugged into her coat and out the door before he could say a word.

Hyde clapped him on the shoulder, and Eric's breath whooshed out of him. "Let's go drink."

* * *

"That's our table, over there." Hyde grasped Eric's shoulders and pointed him in the direction of a waving Fez and Kelso. "I'll get us a couple pitchers."

The bar was nice, Eric thought as he made his way over to his friends. It was a new building, in the place of that old warehouse on fifth that everyone had always said something ought to be done about. The decorum was nice. Maybe a little too 'up woods' for Eric's taste, but he supposed they _were_ in Wisconsin. Hyde looked pretty familiar with the bartender and Kelso and Fez were finishing up a game of darts with a guy in a trucker hat. Eric guessed they came here a lot.

"Hey man, nice to see you." Eric and Kelso shared a high-five/handshake as he sat himself at the high-top table across from him.

"No kidding!" Kelso was grinning spastically.

"Yeah, I had a little change of plans," Eric offered. "Gonna be sticking around a little while longer."

"Excellent news, my friend." Fez dropped into another chair, and patted Eric on the back amicably. "Our trio is back to a qua –" he fumbled. "A qua-trio?"

"Fez, the word is 'quadrant'." Kelso rolled his eyes and then shot a meaningful look to Eric. "How many years in this country and he still can't speak right."

Eric just laughed. It was good to be back.

Hyde returned with a couple of pitchers, and soon the night was in full swing. The guys had asked several questions about life in the Big Apple – Was he living like a hot-shot? Pulling all the tail he wanted? – but Eric quickly steered conversation away from himself. Once you got passed the basics, he really didn't have much to tell. At least, not the kinds of things they were expecting.

Instead, he genuinely wanted to know about Kelso's family. Brooke had finally agreed to marry him, and now she was pregnant again. They were having a new house built in that new development off the highway. Kelso was still working as a cop, and surprisingly, he'd proven to be decent at it. He'd really landed on his feet – a shock to everyone who went to high school with him.

Fez, on the other hand, regaled them with stories about Jackie, and their life together. They rented a house in the same neighborhood as Eric's parents. Eric's eyes drifted to Hyde when Fez started to describe their upcoming date night. Apparently Fez and Jackie had a tradition of picking out each other's outfits, and the red dress he'd bought for her today sounded like it was barely decent for public. Hyde listened as intently as the others, though, and Eric couldn't detect any hints of tension in his jaw or the hand that clasped his beer glass. Maybe Jackie hadn't been bluffing; the arrangement they had really worked.

As the group got into their third pitcher of beer, though, Eric's tongue loosened up. And he wanted the low-down on Donna.

"Pete Peterson," Eric threw out, watching carefully for the group's reactions. "What kind of a name is _Pete Peterson_? That's like… that's like a name you make up when you can't think of anything else. Right?" He looked to his friends for confirmation, but Fez shook his head slowly.

"I don't know," he spoke slowly. "Donna says he's the father of Natalia. They had a one night stand and then he left town."

"Yeah," Eric shook his head. "But I don't believe that."

"I do," Kelso piped up. He set his glass down roughly, sloshing some of the amber liquid onto his hand. He lapped it up greedily before continuing. "Donna was doing any guy with a pulse that fall. Remember?"

"_What_?" Despite himself, Eric's voice cracked. He cleared his throat and blinked away the hurt in his eyes, while Hyde leaned over and frogged Kelso.

"Yeah, well. She still wouldn't touch _you_. So what does that say?"

"Ow, Hyde. Damn." Kelso clutched his arm. "All's I'm sayin' is that she got real whorey after Eric left. This Pete guy…" Kelso shrugged. "I'd believe it."

"Donna ain't a whore," Hyde corrected gruffly. He took a big sip of his beer and squeezed his glass tightly, like he was tempted to punch Kelso again. Eric wished he would.

"Well not _anymore_. Casey's got her tied down."

"Yeah. Since when?" Eric shook his head, reeling from all the new information that had been introduced.

"Oh, we've been together for close to a year, now." A hard grip clamped Eric's shoulder, and he looked up to find Casey Kelso leering over him. "You still enjoying the place, fellas?" He smiled at Kelso. Even Hyde gave him a nod.

Eric's head dropped, though. "You – you own the bar, too?"

Casey laughed. "No. I built it, though."

"Yeah. Casey's the man now, Eric," Kelso offered from across the table. "He owns half the town. Built a couple bars. And the new supermarket coming in. He hooked me and Brooke up with our new place, too." Of course. Eric glanced at him again. He was still wearing that stupid 'Kelso Konstruction' jacket – and a sizeable smirk.

"Yep." Casey rested his hands on the edges of their table and leaned in, his focus on Eric. "I'm not famous, but I _am_ rich as hell."

"Well how nice for you," Eric muttered under his breath.

"Looks like your tank's runnin' a little low," Casey nodded to their near-empty pitcher. "How about another round on me?"

The guys cheered, and Casey handed Kelso and Fez a wad of bills. They quickly retreated to the ordering counter. Ignoring Hyde, a few feet away, Casey leaned in close to Eric – and his 'nice guy' persona was long gone.

"I heard you're sticking around, Foreplay," he snarled. Eric gulped. He felt like he was 10, all over again, and being robbed of his lunch money. "It's a free country, so do what you want. But just know, this is _my_ town now. And Pinciotti is _my_ girl. I don't want you sniffing around. Got it?"

"I'm not 'sniffing' – " Eric began, but Casey cut him off quickly. His face was even closer to his now, and he could smell the cigarette smoke on his breath.

"Good. That's what I like to hear. Cuz we got no use for you. Got it? Donna, me, and Natalia… we're happy. They get all they need from me."

At the mention of Natalia, Eric leveled his chin and looked Casey in the eye. Mustering all of his courage, Eric swallowed hard. "I'm not so sure about that."

But Casey didn't look threatened. Instead, his face loosened up and he began to chuckle, like the very idea of Eric taking a stand was hilarious to him. "Look, I've heard all about your and Donna's pathetic little dead romance. She doesn't miss you, man. She traded up. So do the right thing, and stay out of it." He straightened up, and clapped Eric on the shoulder like he was about to leave. "Oh, and one more thing. Natalia is none of your concern. Her father is a close personal friend of mine." He leaned in one last time, and leered. "So that definitely rules out _you_."

Kelso and Fez were back, pitcher in tow, so Casey straightened and ruffled Eric's hair, like he'd done when they were kids. "Nice chat, Foreplay."

"Foreplay," Kelso laughed. "Man, I forgot about that."

Casey smiled and shrugged. "Well, let's bring it back. Nice to see you guys. I better get home, or the lady will think I've got a girlfriend." He winked, slapped the bartender a high-five as he exited, and was gone.

"What the hell was that?" Eric murmured quietly to Hyde, while Fez and Kelso had a cherry stem tying contest across the table.

Hyde shrugged, and pinched a cashew between his fingers before popping it into his mouth. "Casey, man. You know how he is."

"So he and Donna… they're the real deal?"

"I guess so."

Eric studied the top of the table quietly for a few moments. "I don't care what anyone says. I think Natalia could be mine."

Hyde didn't say anything.

"I mean… Pete Peterson. _Seriously_?"

Hyde shrugged. "That's been her story from day one, man. And she _was_ kinda a mess that fall. I guess it could be true." Eric's shoulders slumped. "But, for what it's worth… I think you might be right."

Eric looked at him in amazement. "Yeah?" Then a thought occurred to him. "I mean, so… so what if that's true? What if she was pregnant, and she never told me, and now we have a kid?" He felt all of the alcohol from the evening coursing through his veins, and for the first time, he started to feel angry. Really angry. "How could she do that to me?"

Hyde popped another cashew in his mouth. "I dunno, man. Maybe she was just tryin' to hurt you as badly as you hurt her."

* * *

"I'm glad you came over." Donna folded her legs underneath her on the squashy armchair in her living room. She clinked wine glasses with Jackie, who was on her couch. Natalia had been put to bed hours ago, Casey was out, and Donna was well in need of some grown-up time.

"No problem." Jackie nibbled on a piece of cheese. She swallowed her bite before continuing. "This is our second wine night this week, though. Is this gonna become a regular thing? Because I would _totally_ be okay with that."

"Yeah, well. Eric's in town. So – maybe." Donna pointedly took another long swig.

"I know. Did you see him again or something?"

Donna nodded. "Yeah. Today. He wants to take Natalia out for ice cream." She buried her head in her hands. "I just… don't need this right now, Jackie."

"So tell him to piss off," she remarked, with attitude. "He can't just swing in and out of your life whenever he pleases."

"_Exactly_." Donna reached around her friend and poured herself a tad more.

"So then what's the problem?"

"I dunno." Donna faltered. "It's crazy, right? I have this great life, that I worked really hard to make for myself. And most importantly – Natalia. My job's great. The house is great. Casey's great. But Eric… he just. Something about him makes me feel like I'm 18 again. And I can't be acting 18, Jackie. I have a daughter."

"Well how did you feel when you were 18?"

Donna sloshed some wine around in her glass, and watched it circulate. "Scared."


	7. VI

**A/N: Another chapter! The more I write, the more I really want to finish this. It's been such a labor of love. There's a whole lot more story to come, so be patient with me. All will be revealed... in time.**

**I just wanted to say that I appreciate your reviews so, so much. It means a lot that so many of you have stuck with me through that horrible hiatus. Thank you!**

* * *

Donna's front door was painted red, and Eric studied it carefully while he waited for her to answer the door bell. It wasn't lipstick red, or fire truck red. More of a nice, warm barn color. She had hanging baskets of flowers, too, on her patio. It was a far cry from how the Pinciotti's used to decorate and he was surprised that it looked nice. Homey. Décor hadn't been Donna's forte in the past.

"It's open!" came her call from inside.

Eric hesitated – he knew she wasn't expecting him – and then pushed the door open.

Donna was hunched over her kitchen sink, her long red hair tied back with a bandana and one arm somewhere down the drain. She straightened up when she saw him, a look of surprise and then annoyance briefly flashing across her face. He tried not to notice, but the tank top she was wearing was a little bit too small, and it hugged her curves. She didn't look like she'd had a baby. No siree.

"Uh. Hi." Eric eyed her as she pulled her hand from the mouth of the sink. It was streaked with something brown, and he chuckled a little at the absurdity of the situation. "What are you doing?"

"Tap dancing." She rolled her eyes, but he could tell she was masking a smile. Her eyes darted around, searching for a hand towel. The nearest one was on the counter by Eric, so he tossed it to her. "Thanks." Their eyes met for the briefest of seconds, before she cleared her throat. "Something's wrong with my garbage disposal."

"Oh." He rubbed his ear with one hand, awkwardly. "Do you, ah, want me to take a look at it?"

"No." Donna snorted. "You're terrible at this stuff."

Her smile belied the harshness of her words, and Eric blushed. She was right, of course, but that line might've worked on a New York girl.

"Plus," Donna continued, "I think there might be spiders down there."

"Shit." Eric waved his arms in front of him and took a step backwards. He made his voice waver. "Y-yeah, never mind. You look like you've got it covered." They shared a look, and he watched a giggle form on her lips and then burst free. It fluttered between them, and Eric felt it settle at the middle of his chest. His eyes shot to hers, wondering if she felt that spark, too. But her smile was gone as quickly as it had come, and she'd folded her arms across her chest.

"So. What are you doing here?"

Eric swallowed. "Just wanted to talk."

"About?"

"Well, actually, I wanted to know how you'd feel about calling a truce." His eyes searched hers, waiting for them to soften again.

"A truce," she repeated slowly.

"Yeah. I just… it looks like I'm gonna be around for a little while, and my mom needs help at her daycare, you know? So I was gonna… help her," he finished lamely. Donna stared at him, silently waiting. She looked like she was getting impatient, so Eric hastily continued. "And so, you know, I figure for Natalia's sake, you and I… we should – we should call a truce. At least promise to be civil. Like neighboring countries," he added, with a small smile.

Donna didn't smile back. "It's hard for me to be civil when you keep _harassing_ my daughter and I."

Eric winced. "About that. I – Donna, I'm gonna back off from now on. I promise."

Surprise flashed across her face. "Really?"

"Yeah." He spoke sincerely. "I'm sorry, okay? I'll stop bothering you about this."

"Well, thank you." She still held the hand towel in her hands, and wrung it thoughtfully.

It was true – he planned to back off. Last night on his cab ride home from the bar, he'd realized that making Donna defensive was not the way to get his answer. When she felt cornered, she lashed out. Even if he really was Natalia's father, she'd say he wasn't until she was blue in the face, just to spite him. So he needed a new plan. He was going to have to take the long way rather than a shortcut, and spend his time building her trust, and really getting to know Natalia. This conversation was step one.

"So. Truce?" He offered his hand, but Donna just looked at it.

"How long did you say you were staying?"

Eric dropped his outstretched hand back to his side, and sighed. "Indefinitely?"

"Hm." She lifted an annoyed eyebrow, and returned to her garbage disposal without another word.

"What?" Eric protested. She glared into the basin, at the pile of chopped food she'd apparently pulled from it, rather than at Eric. "I mean that I'm staying."

"Sure you are," Donna mumbled.

"No, really. I am."

"To do what? Volunteer at your mom's daycare?" She scoffed, and dug her arm back into the mouth of the sink. "Do you even have a job, Eric?"

"Ye –" he faltered. "Well… no." She gave him a pointed look, and Eric drummed his fingers against the counter, thinking. "Why? Is that what it will take to prove to you I'm for real? That I'm not leaving this time?"

Donna moved her head from side to side, but she still didn't look at him. "It'll help."

He grinned victoriously, though she couldn't see it. "Okay. Well, then the search is on."

She pulled her hand from the sink, once again covered in brown goop, and gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Super," she cheered sarcastically.

"And then maybe we can be friends."

Donna eyed him wearily. "Friends?" Eric nodded hopefully, and she sighed. "Eric. I think we'd better start with being civil."

He opened his mouth to respond, but the sound of heavy boots on the patio silenced him. Donna's eyes met his in a panic before the front door opened, seconds later, and Casey stepped inside the house. He was holding a tool box, and his eyes quickly crossed to Eric.

"Foreplay," he exhaled, his voice flat. "What. A. Surprise." Casey ambled through the door and Eric practically flattened himself against the wall, looking to avoid the meaty fists that swung at his side. But surprisingly, after only one hard look at Eric, Casey turned his full attention to Donna.

"I heard there's a garbage disposal gone wild?" His tone was jovial, and he slung an arm around Donna's waist while he talked. Eric's heart sank a little when she smiled – a genuine smile.

"Yeah," Donna told him. "I tried to fix it, but…" she shrugged. Casey grinned and lifted her dirty, bare arm in his hands.

"'Swamp thing' is a good look on you, Pinciotti," he teased, and she giggled some more.

On the other side of the kitchen, Eric tensed. He would be lying to himself if he didn't admit that he was listening carefully for any sort of tension, but they laughed easily and seemed comfortable, familiar in a way that made Eric ache. Suddenly, he felt very out of place. He moved towards the door and had his hand on the knob, hopeful he'd make a quiet escape, when –

"So. Is this gonna be a thing now, huh Foreplay? I come over, and you're here?"

Casey had opened up the cabinets underneath the sink and was working on a pipe with his wrench. He didn't look away from his work, but his menacing tone rooted Eric to the spot.

"N-no," Eric stammered. "Definitely not." He knew he should offer some sort of explanation, but his mind went completely blank. "Uh…"

"He was trying to help me with the disposal," Donna offered, from her perch on top of the counter. Her eyes darted to his, making sure he'd play along. "I, um, called Kitty and she sent him over."

"Is that right?" Casey set down his wrench and eyed Eric carefully, deciding if he bought the story or not. Eric gulped. He felt like a deer, caught in the crosshairs of Red's hunting rifle. Thankfully, Casey's furrowed brow relaxed into a smirk. "Well," he patted Donna's leg, "thank god you have a real man here, now. I'll take care of it." He shot another hard look Eric's way. "You can be leaving now," he said, and returned to his work.

"Great," Eric breathed, lifting his eyebrows in relief. Donna caught his eye before he stepped out into the morning air, but he couldn't read her expression.

* * *

A few hours later, Eric sat at his parents' kitchen table, several newspapers splayed out in front of him. He had each paper open to the 'Help Wanted' section, and he chewed the end of his red marker thoughtfully, ready to circle any potential jobs he could apply for. The problem was, none seemed to be jumping out at him.

Sitting down to write out his resume had been a painful process. It turned out that all he'd really done in five years was write a novel and help produce a movie – impressive digs if he were in Hollywood, but here in Point Place he wasn't sure how far that would get him. Most of the jobs he was looking at required a college degree, and he was lacking one of those. His year in Africa had been enlightening and the program was the very first thing he listed under 'Education'… but unfortunately he'd used the money they'd given him upon completion to pay for his apartment in New York, not a college education. It had seemed like a good idea at the time – what use did a famous novelist have for a degree? – but now he felt like, well, kicking himself in the ass.

Eric had just crumbled up another useless page of the paper into a ball when Red ambled into the kitchen. He stopped at the fridge and poured himself a glass of orange juice before turning around and heading for the door to the living room, without a word. Since Eric had returned home, Red had mostly crept around, like he was hoping Eric might not notice his presence. This behavior was only slightly preferable to what their relationship had been when Eric was in high school.

"Hey dad." Eric lifted one hand in a half-hearted wave, foiling Red's plan to leave the kitchen undetected.

Red paused, one hand on the living room door, and turned around. "Son."

"Mom told me you have a doctor's appointment today. Is everything, ah, alright?"

Red set his glass of juice down on the counter and sighed, defeated. "I'm fine. Just a check-up. Ever since my heart attack, your mom makes me go in for every damn little thing."

"Oh." Eric nodded, and really looked at his father for the first time since he'd been back. On the surface he was still the same – grumpy look on his face, plaid shirt stuffed into a pair of jeans. But the subtle signs of aging were there. His hair was thinner. Barely even there, really. He looked like he'd lost weight, too. Eric wasn't sure if it was intentional – the result of years of Kitty's nagging – or not. He'd been spending an awful lot of time upstairs in bed, too. Probably hiding from his mom's daycare kids – or maybe from Eric.

Red noticed the papers, and finally came to sit at the table with Eric. "You looking for a job here?"

"Yeah."

"So you're actually staying, then." Surprise flitted across his face.

"Yeah," Eric nodded. He looked up from the newspapers and capped his pen. "I told you I was."

Red gave a shake of his head and took a sip of his juice. "Okay, then."

He had the same guarded look Donna had today, and even his mother when he'd announced his plans to stick around. It was like they weren't getting their hopes up – but that was a strange sentiment coming from Red. Eric knew he'd hurt Donna when he'd gone away, and his friends, and especially his mother. His absence wasn't easy on them, but he'd never thought about hurting Red.

"One of my friends from the war," Red cleared his throat, shaking Eric from his thoughts. "Skip. His wife, ah… Margaret? Marla?" He shook his head. "She started some fruity private school in Rockford. It has a funny name." He paused for almost a full minute, entranced with swirling his juice around his glass. He looked anywhere but at Eric. "It's one of those schools where the teachers don't have to be smart. I guess I could make a phone call, and see if you could apply there."

Eric gaped at him. Was he offering to help? "Uh. Wow. Thanks, Dad." He furrowed his brow. "Did you… d'you mean that I don't have to be certified to teach there?"

"That's it," Red nodded. He shrugged. "They hire hippies. They'll probably hire you."

"That's… awesome." Eric folded the newspaper shut and nodded, unsure if he was touched or not by his father's gesture. "I'll take an interview as soon as possible."

Red had finished his glass, and he tipped it back and forth in his hands carefully, watching the left over droplets of juice skirt across the glass. "Why'd you decide to do this, anyway?"

"To stay?"

Red nodded. "Your mother wants to know."

Eric blew out a breath. "I don't know. There's just some… unresolved conflicts I need to wait out."

"Hmpph."

Red looked ready to make a break for it, so Eric hastily changed the subject. "Hey, you know Natalia?"

"Donna's kid?" Red looked up, surprised.

"Yeah," Eric nodded. "I-I think she might be mine."

Red shook his head right away. "That's not what Donna says. Some guy from –"

"Yeah, a rich doctor she had a one night stand with," Eric finished for him. "I've heard that story. But considering the timeline…" he trailed off. "I just, I think there's a chance."

Red was silent. He stared at his hands, which seemed more gnarly and wrinkled than Eric had ever remembered them. In all his years, Eric had never thought of Red as old. He was too strong to be old. But now, that presence seemed gone. Had Red changed, or had Eric? "I don't know, son. I would be mighty careful." He met Eric's gaze, and his green eyes held a softness Eric hadn't seen in them in years. "That might not be what you wanted to hear."

Eric felt a surge of anger overtake his chest. Sometimes when he was a teenager, he had imagined that Red sat up at night, thinking up the one thing he could say to agitate Eric the most. "Look, I'm not asking for your opinion, Dad. You asked why I'm staying, and that's why. Because if she _is_ mine and I missed out on these five years…" he shook his head, his mouth set in a firm line, unable to finish his thought.

"Yeah," Red stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the linoleum loudly as he made his exit. "Missing out on five years with your kid. Nothing easy about that."

* * *

Jackie turned in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, and eased her hands down her sides, smoothing over the shiny, black fabric. Steven was going to swallow his tongue when he saw her in this.

"Jackie?"

She spun around and clamped a hand over her chest, startled by the dark skinned man leaning against the door frame. Fez held a block of solid chocolate in his palm, and he bit into it casually, as if it were an apple. "You are going out? Again?"

"Um. Yeah." She smoothed a hand over her taut stomach, suddenly aware of how skin-tight her outfit was. "Jenni, from work? It's her bachelorette party tonight. Remember? I told you." She hadn't, but it was a good lie. It seemed like all of her friends were getting married these days.

"Oh." Fez's face relaxed. "I thought that was last weekend."

"Last weekend was _Allison's_ bridal shower," Jackie reminded him, turning back to the mirror to apply some bright red lipstick. "Allison" was a friend she had made up entirely.

"Forgive me," Fez set down his chocolate and licked his fingers clean of the residue before sidling up behind Jackie. He wrapped his arms around her waist and smiled at her in the mirror. "You have so many _friends_, it's hard to keep track."

His accent of the word 'friends' made Jackie's blood run cold. Did he mean…? She stood statue still, her lipstick poised in midair, but Fez still held his easy smile.

"Your girlfriends get to have you in the evening," he continued, mischievously, "As long as I get you after dark." Jackie relaxed – he was still oblivious – but tensed again when he pressed a soft kiss to her neck.

She bit her lip, and forced herself not to wriggle free from his grasp. "I – I might be late tonight, actually."

His face fell, and he stepped away from her when she smiled sympathetically. "How late?"

She shrugged and applied a little more blush. "You know how these things go, Fezzie."

He frowned and flopped backwards onto their bed. "Someday soon I'm going to surprise you with a romantic getaway," he insisted. "To Chicago, or maybe Minneapolis."

"Or Mexico," Jackie offered from across the room, still primping in the mirror. One good thing about Fez was that he genuinely listened to her – and he didn't shy away from her expensive tastes.

"Anything you want, my pet."

"That sounds nice," she spoke softly, gazing at his forlorn form in the mirror. He was stretched out across her pillow staring at her wantonly, appreciating the bounce of her hair and the shape of her dress, carefully put together for someone other than him. It almost made her feel guilty for where she was about to go – made her want to reconsider her plans. Almost.

* * *

The next day, Eric stood in the Hershel School's head office, his best blazer from high school tight around his shoulders.

"I'm still a bit confused." Dean Marcene Willis leaned forward, her elbows propped against her heavy oak desk. "_Why_ would you like to teach here?"

Eric cleared his throat and tried not to be intimidated by the dean's deep voice, tight bun, and wood-paneled office. She'd agreed to see him during her fifteen minutes for lunch, but it appeared Red's name wasn't going to go as far as Eric had hoped. She stabbed a few pieces of lettuce from her salad onto her fork, popped it in her mouth, and stared at Eric expectantly.

Hesitantly, he held up a hardcover copy of his book. "I wrote a bestselling novel," he offered. The dean's expression didn't change.

"Yes?"

Eric stretched his arm out, silently offering to let her take a look. She shook her head.

"Oh, I've already read it. And truth be told, I wasn't impressed."

"Oh." Eric's shoulder slumped. That ace in the hole was all he had.

Carefully, the dean set down her fork and wiped her mouth with her napkin. She looked at Eric, not unkindly, and folded her hands on top of her desk. "Mr. Forman. Why don't you tell me the real reason you want a job here."

"Um." Eric cleared his throat, and began his rehearsed rhetoric. "Well, I'm looking to return to Wisconsin for the long-term, and I need something to anchor me here. I taught some in Africa, and I think I can be good at it. Relating to kids, making connections… I want practice with that."

The dean stared at him, and twirled a pen between her fingers. "Okay," she spoke slowly. "But why should I hire you?" Eric reached for his book again, and she shook her head. "Nuh uh. That isn't a reason. Not a good one, anyway."

Eric faltered. Suddenly the dress shirt and tie he wore felt much too constricting. Was he sweating? Nervously, he pulled at his collar and the dean frowned sympathetically.

"Look, I'd like to hire you. Your father is a dear friend. But I am responsible for the education of my students, and I need to know if I can entrust that education to you. What wisdom do you have to impart?"

Eric swallowed. "Well, I can write. And, um. Read," he finished lamely.

"Fascinating."

Eric's shoulders slumped, defeated. "Okay, look," he admitted. "I've never done this before, and I don't know if I'm gonna be any good at it." The dean raised a manicured eyebrow. "But I really do want to try, and I'd love to help kids. Plus, c'mon, don't you think 'Mr. Forman' has a nice ring to it?" She stared at him oddly. "I – okay," he hastily continued. "I never thought I could write, but it came out in me when someone made me realize that I had something to say."

The dean leaned back in her chair and peered at him over the top of her glasses, looking intrigued for the first time. She picked up his resume and glanced at it again. "One of your professors in Africa?" she guessed. "It says here that you took some adult-education courses while you were there."

"No," Eric shook his head. "I mean, yes. That writing course was the beginning of my career. But it was someone else who… who inspired me. Who taught me that I have a voice." He swallowed, making this realization for the first time. "And I would love it if I could reach even one kid the way I was reached. It empowered me, and it… it changed my life," he finished sincerely.

The dean studied him closely, her pen perched between her lips. Finally, she raised her eyebrow. "That's the first earnest thing you've said since you walked into my office."

Eric smiled hopefully, and she sighed, shuffling some papers.

"I suppose I could give you _one_ class. The sixth grade creative writing elective."

"That's perfect. That's all I need," Eric insisted.

"It doesn't pay much," she cautioned, and Eric shook his head.

"I'm not in it for the money, Dean."

"Fine, then." She pursed her lips. "I've been looking for a way to pay back your father for years now. He pulled my husband out of a sinking tank in Korea."

Eric pressed his hands together. "Well, thank you. Really. I'll – I'll tell him." He gave the intimidating woman an awkward bow of sorts, and headed for her office door, eager to get out of there before she changed her mind. She stopped him with his hand on the knob, though.

"Your book," she called to him. "Does it have a sequel?"

Eric turned around. "I thought you didn't like it."

She shrugged. "I didn't care for the writing style, but your characters were so real. I want to know what happens to them."

"So do I," Eric mumbled.


End file.
